


nUF "Origins" Episode 8: Death Count

by Turandokht



Series: UF Origins [9]
Category: Babylon 5, Mass Effect Trilogy, Multi-Fandom, Universal Century Gundam
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-27 09:48:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21390151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turandokht/pseuds/Turandokht
Series: UF Origins [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/987267
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Undiscovered Frontier - A Multiverse Crossover Space Opera





	1. Chapter 1

** _Introduction_ **

  
  


Commander Abebech Imra, the Captain of the  _ Huáscar _ ’s parasite ship  _ Heermann,  _ and Colonel Fei’nur, the Spectre and Marine Regiment Commander for the  _ Huáscar _ , arrived at the invitation-only function room attached to Café Varna last. The two had been sparring, and incredibly, Fei’nur looked like the one who had come off the worse, though the two of them walked side by side, with the easy confidence of people who had earned each other’s respect. 

Inside the room, William Atreiades the XO, Elia Saumarez the Operations Officer in her prominent telepath’s black gloves, Arterus tr’Rllaillieu the Navigation officer and Rihannsu (or Romulan) Star Empire’s heir’s cousin, Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur, the Captain’s younger sister and already legendary Dilgar Doctor and biologist (with a very ominous clan name), Chief Warrant Officer Anastasia Héen, the Tlingit Airboss, and Master Chief Petty Officer Rick Dugan had already settled. With them, very hesitantly, was a newcomer: Artesia de Más, a/k/a Artesia som Deikun or Sayla Mass, who had been invited to the ship by the Captain and now was worried about her professional future.

The other officers of the  _ Huáscar  _ were there in spirit, if not in person. Anna Poniatowska, the ChEng, had the bridge watch. Lar’shan was completing a special evaluation Fei’nur had sent him on, as she was never content when it came to the risk of wasting time. With the  _ Huáscar  _ in dock, Daria and Violeta had been dragged to mandatory training. 

The rest of them were there. And they had good reason to be. Their Captain, Zhen’var, daughter of Kaveri Varma (and adopted by Shai’jhur, the Dilgar Warmaster) and f/k/a Zhengli Varma, was being grilled before the Senate Armed Services Committee. The Senate Service Holovision Channel was a rare voluntary choice for a private function, but it was on today, as Alexandra brought out plate after plate of Bulgarian cuisine and plenty of beers. No-one wanted to be completely sober for it. 

“It’s a disgrace.” Fei’nur murmured, loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to be deniable, as she watched the holo-feed. “Previous witnesses’ recesses delayed the start?”

“Of course they did,” Stasia offered, rolling her eyes. “There’s zero respect in the Senate. Grandstanding did more of it, actually. Welcome, Colonel,” she added informally, but there was respect there too. Both the Chiefs got along well with Fei’nur--which for Rick in particular as a human from the same galaxy was quite an accomplishment. 

Abebech, wearing a traditional Ethiopian dress and full-length white opera gloves and her customary shades, had yanked her amazingly curly and huge mass of hair back into a usual restricted bun, and looked up at the screen methodically. She waved off the beer and watched as a plate of Karvavitza was put down in front of her. Other than that, she had water and an empty glass into which she poured a dark and rich wine of her own. It was the first time anyone at the table had seen her drink.

Fei’nur picked up her usual, of the specialty meat plank of Cafe Varna and grozdovallozova. She gave the screen a glare as she settled in. 

Nah’dur would have looked dejected if only Dilgar ears could flop. To another Dilgar the gesture was clear, anyway, her nose hovering over her drink. Her eyes were distracted to Abebech’s drink. “What are you drinking?”

“A kind of Solarian wine I picked up a few cases of whilst I was on shore leave before the mission to Garatnam,” Abebech replied simply. “It’s all genetically engineered. I doubt you’d like it.”

“It’s beginning.” Fei’nur muttered as the chryon flashed across the screen indicating the hearings were about to resume. Zhen’var’s image flashed across the screen, rigid as she held up her hand, swearing an oath before questioning began.

All together, the table quieted of its own volition. They would have all been there, but it would look bad, and Zhen’var would have never permitted it. And so they had to settle for the holovid projector in Café Varna. 

There was the strike of a gavel. “Our meeting will come to order. Today we are considering the matter of the world of Garantam, and the recent operations concluded there by the Alliance Navy and Diplomatic corps.”

“Princess Marigold,” Abebech’s eyes narrowed for a moment and she shook her head and laughed. “Well, that will be entertaining. Avalon is one of the Psychocomp civilisations nearer to the Fracture.” It was an opening moment that made Abebech the centre of attention for the moment. She raised her glass to her lips, looking like Malbec. 

“They’re the civilisations which reverted to historical memetic forms as a coping mechanism with the Fracture during the Reignfall,” Abebech explained as Elia and Artesia were almost transfixed with her steady drip of information. “She’s actually quite likely to be friendly to the Captain, I expect.”

“They will not all be, or there would not be hearings.” Fei’nur countered, swirling the liquid in her glass. “Someone had to request them and summon her.”

They watched as, with enormous dignity, Zhen’var fenced the Senators away from ‘gotchas’ and prevented anyone from saying she had exceeded the bounds of her duties as a Captain. They watched as she foiled with them, speaking plainly to the fact that Garatnam was an independent country now, and without violence. She graciously acknowledged the contribution of the Deputy Undersecretary for Peace Outreach Yulasanna, and refrained from calling out the errors of intelligence which had nearly led to disaster.

“They don’t deserve her,” Stasia muttered as she watched the holo-feed. 

“Of course they don’t,” Nah’dur added, and one could almost hear her add ‘because she’s part of my family’, but she managed not to, despite her already infamous lack of a filter. 

“It will take months before they come up with a report, anyhow.” Fei’nur offered from her place, setting an empty glass on the table. “And they can only make recommendations to our Admirals. Such a silly, redundant system.”

“It does prevent mistakes, as a balance of powers often does,” Abebech observed, smiling wryly to Fei’nur. “At least in theory, at any rate.” 

“A  _ terrible  _ theory. Did not the Lady Sta’ria state in her  _ Great Commentaries _ that division of the supreme power was necessary to prevent stagnation, but that a collegial form was required to prevent anarchy?”

“Of course she did!” Nah’dur bounded. “That’s why, in fact, we just have elected collegiate positions instead of an actual legislature in the Union.”

Abebech smiled. “Separation of powers based on function rather than talent does run the risk of of a government being based on form rather than competence, Sta’ria was right about that.”

"I dare say she was right about more than that." There was a tone of challenge in Fei'nur's voice as she indicated the holodisplay.

“How …” Even Abebech trailed off and shrugged. “Well, you’re likely right, in certain respects. The Captain is making them look bored, though, she’s not giving them a single opening in her duties or her privileges,” she offered to the Dilgar Colonel.

“The Battlemaster is the epitome of  _ professional, _ like Warmaster Dar’sen was.”

Elia nodded slowly. “It’s strange to think of her up there. I have enormous sympathy for it. When Deputy Directors got grilled by the Earth Alliance Senate back home, you know, they couldn’t say a single thing wrong. She must feel much the same.”

“ _ Huáscar _ and our people, she represents both when she sits before the records and Senators.” Fei’nur spoke, slow and careful in her words. “If she demanded less than perfection from herself, she would not be the Captain she is.”

“Will it really take months for them to clear her?” Nah’dur asked with a frown.

“Yes,” Elia answered, “but it isn’t clearing per-say. It’s just a fact finding report. It can’t be used for discipline or anything else in the military… Officially, anyway.”

The Marine officer growled softly under her breath. “A negative report can and will be used to  _ generate _ official proceedings, however.”

“They don’t got shit on her,” Rick sighed and rolled his eyes. “They just wanted her to screw up on camera, and she didn’t. It’ll be fine.” 

“If politics do not intervene. Still… you are correct, Chief. We have another long duration mission to prepare for, and  _ our  _ Captain will be leading us.” Fei’nur’s expression admitted no uncertainty. 

“Are we sure it’s going to be all right?” Artesia asked. “They really seem to have it out for her?”

“No-one with the power to force Admiral Maran to act, however, but such is a discussion dangerously close to breaking regulations, Lieutenant.”

Artesia sighed and nodded. 

“Hard for someone from the White Base?” Elia asked with a gentle smile on her lips. 

“Yeah… About that. Yeah.” Artesia’s face flicked back into a smile. “Thank you, Colonel, Commander. She’s a good woman and we owe her everything.” 

  
  
  
  


About an hour later, an exhausted Zhen’var was heading to Admiral Maran’s office. She went through security, waited for ten minutes in a mild daze in the waiting room by the secretary, and then was invited into his office. There was a hot cup of chai waiting on the table.

“Captain, please have a seat.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” Gratefully, with her head still somewhat fuzzy from the last several hours, the Dilgar Captain sank into the chair. The act of will to not stare longingly at the cup was, she would later marvel, nearly a miracle.

“By all means,” he gestured to the cup. “You comported yourself well,” he added. “I do not think it will be a problem. The actual objective of the mission was met. Some in the Senate simply expected there would be additional implicit advantages.” 

“I have concerns of that, sir, but you are correct.” She took the ceramic in both hands and took a thankful sip. Zhen’var had more to say, but what she had said was already pushing the bounds of military propriety she had drilled into her as a young woman.

Maran sized her up for a moment, thinking. Her disinterest in continuing was clear, and really, so was his. “We have a new mission for the  _ Huáscar,  _ Captain, and it is an important one, you have established your reputation already as one of the foremost of our Explorer Captains, and I do wish I could offer you more than that praise, but it is deserved. This one will still be a challenge. I need you to lead negotiations between the Alliance and the Quarian people.” 

“The Quarian flotilla, sir?” Her brows visibly knitted. “ _ Huascar _ is not known for our diplomatic record, Admiral, but more a most aggressive peacekeeping posture.”

“I think you will be a particularly respected Captain among the Quarians, and the Naval Board and the Foreign Ministry agree. This is a situation in which diplomacy led by an Explorer Captain is actually highly advantageous, due to the cultural respect for Captains which the Quarians hold. So that is the decision which has been made for the assignment,” Maran explained. 

_ And of course, not my Science officer…  _ “I believe I understand, Admiral.”

“You will depart in two days, Captain. The Migrant Fleet is in the terminus systems… And the objective of the negotiations is to establish the terms on which they will become an Associated State and move into another universe to find a suitable planet for habitation.”

“Admiral, we are speaking of the  _ Migrant Fleet _ . We will need an Interuniversal Gate, and fifty thousand ships…” She shook her head in disbelief at the  _ scale _ . “Two gates, then. A realspace transit… what universe is being considered, and what support shall we have to keep the fleet moving onwards? Away from their technological base here… they will be reliant on us to be their support once their own resources are depleted in an… exodus of the type you describe.”

“We will need to organise two hundred full sized fleet tenders to support the movement,” Maran agreed. “In regular, continuous convoys, for several months. They will leave through one of the established gates, but we will have to build one on the other end. We haven’t identified a world yet, Captain. This will be months in the planning, and  _ Huáscar  _ will be assigned to identify that world--the needs of Quarians are unique, and it will be an enormous challenge to find a suitable biome. It’s conceivable this mission could occupy the  _ Huáscar,  _ with a few breaks for shore-leave and maintenance, for an entire year.” 

She had not expected the mission to take so long as that; Zhen’var had thought they had  _ possible _ worlds already, and a hint of a frown crossed her face. “Is the intention to have the Migrant Fleet depart M4P2, sir, and take them to another that we will scout, or for  _ Huascar _ to scout with Quarian support?”

“For  _ Huascar  _ to scout with Quarian support, locate and confirm suitability of a world, and then return to lead the Quarian fleet through it, Captain. You may be drawn off to other missions but that will be your primary objective for the foreseeable future.” 

Captain Zhen’var felt a weight settle on her shoulders as she gave a single nod. “I understand, Admiral.  _ Huáscar  _ will not fail.”  _ Just the future of an entire species resting on us, that is all. _

  
  
  


Undiscovered Frontier  _ Origins _ : Death Count

Season 1, Episode 8

#  Act One

  
  
  


They had managed to cut orders for 36 hours of leave for the officers after the crew had gotten 60 hr passes on Earth. This meant a fair number of them had only recently returned from their leave as they began to filter into the familiar Conference Room One. It looked like Anna was glaring at the Projector, daring it to cause problems after the work done it. 

Nah’dur wandered in with a bright look on her face, early enough before the meeting that she felt comfortable talking to Zhen’var semi-informally… And Fei’nur close at hand. “Captain, I am sorry you were not able to go to the surface. Do you know what I discovered?”

“No, Surgeon-Commander, but I suspect you are keen to tell me.” Zhen’var couldn’t help a small smile at her little sister’s enthusiasm.

“I discovered,” Nah’dur continued, “that there is a subnational territorial unit on the North American continent which is named Wisconsin, and it is famous for Cheese. I toured five factories at which cheese is made,” she continued, and presented triumphantly a bag of small pieces of cheese to Zhen’var. “They even sell the immature cheese as a delicacy, sort of like eating the calves of rightbeasts. Have some, sister. You too, Fei’nur!” 

“You came back with… Wisconson cheese curds.” Zhen’var blinked. “Captain Sheridan would talk of such things from fairs when he was a child, and frying them in breading, I recall…” She reached in and took a piece, only for her eyes to widen in surprise when it squeaked as she bit down.

Fei’nur’s expression was wary as she nibbled a piece off, though it faded as she chewed. “Commander, this  _ is _ certainly an acquired taste, but I could see myself acquiring it. It is digestible enough, I assume?”

“Oh, of course, perfectly so,” Nah’dur answered. “I got to inspect every part of the production process after all. Isn’t the squeak so neat?”

“Almost like the experience cuisine from the old Empire, where certain of the food was presented live. They are rather a pleasant experience.” Fei’nur reached for another curd, as Zhen’var looked to her for a moment, before following suit.

“Yes exactly my thought,” Nah’dur grinned. “I cannot understand why everyone dislikes the Armed Forces Network. Without the public service announcements on it, I would have never known that Wisconsin existed.” 

Both the older women immediately turned withering looks on Nah’dur’s innocent grin. “It is good that  _ someone _ appreciates it.” Fei’nur managed to growl… while sneaking another cheese curd.

It was then that Fera’xero arrived.

“Commander, good morning. Sit, please.” Zhen’var quickly resettled her ‘professional’ look on her face. “We will have much to discuss, and you shall be rather intimately involved in the planning of our next mission.”

“Captain?” Fera’xero asked, collecting a drink bulb, as he moved to sit. 

Zhen’var waited until he did, before she went on, not smiling; “We are going to make contact with the Migrant Fleet. I am to lead negotiations on the terms of them Associating with the Alliance, and the mechanism by which we shall find your people a new homeworld in another universe.”

“The homeworld decision,” Fera’xero’s vocoder flashed. “I understand why you ask me to come, yes. There has been much debate in the Fleet. I have participated in it from afar where I can, Captain.” He composed himself, sucking from the bulb. “Where shall I begin, my Captain?” 

“I understand the basic history, of the Morning War and what comes after, and the biological limitations on a world that can be found. It is expected our mission may take a year or more, with a Quarian squadron traveling with us. There is the Admiralty Board and the Conclave, and both must be won over, yes?”

“A year might be a reasonable estimate,” Fera’xero said, glancing to Nah’dur. 

“Statistically speaking,” Nah’dur explained, “competitive evolution of bacteria and virii and fungii is collectively  _ so common  _ that there is a small, but concerning, possibility that we will fail: We may find that, in fact, even in the entire possibly infinite multiverse that Rannoch was the  _ only  _ planet with a sophisticated ecosystem to take the evolutionary direction that it did and evolve a collaborative system of evolution,” Nah’dur finished with a blunt shrug. “Now, is that likely? No, I think we can find a planet they can live on. But the statistical probability of Rannoch is low enough that it could be the only one.” 

“We will need to use non-standard intelligence sources to give us hints at where we should be directing our search, if the situation is so rare… or we will need to engineer a world.” There was a hint of a wince.

“It’s really a big data problem,” Nah’dur scrunched up, her nose cutely flaring for a moment. “We have some evidence of panspermic exchanges of bacteria, the Perseus Veil probably helped prevent that for Rannoch. So the first way to narrow down the search will be to look for areas where astrographic conditions make it hard for rogue asteroids and comets and bits of planetary matter to be exchanged on an interstellar basis. Since those areas will usually be the same from universe to universe, it’s a managable problem, don’t you agree, Commander?” 

“Very clever, Surgeon-Commander. Yes, it should be something we can approach,” Fera’xero answered. 

“Beyond that, we just do massive correlation of all observed data from ships, reports of traders, studies, etc, in all of the societies whose data we have access to,” Nah’dur explained. “Once we have those two sources narrowed down, then it actually makes sense to begin searching in those areas first--correlating with systems that have Rannoch-like stellar conditions first using a genetic search algorithm and then spreading out to less likely hits.” 

Raising her hands, palm out, Zhen’var spoke; “I leave it in your capable hands, Commanders. An abstract of the method is requested for when I must open negotiations with the Migrant Fleet, so I may present a  _ plan _ .”

“Understood,” Nah’dur answered immediately. “What next, then?” 

“I can explain the political situation in the Fleet,” Fera’xero offered 

“Please do. I have the general Alliance brief, which goes about as deeply as a tourist pamphlet.”

Fera’xero nodded, putting the bulb aside. “There are three factions. The outer settlement faction wants to find another settlement. Admirals Shala’Raan vas Tonbay and Zaal’Koris vas Qwib-Qwib represent this faction. Han’Gerrel vas Neema and Rael’Zorah vas Qurron have been known to favour turning back to achieve victory at any cost over the geth. Admiral Daro’Xen vas Moreh… Is a complicated matter. I will be honest, she has reason to be wary of non-Quarians, and has been very cautious in stating a preference. The Conclave is… Closely divided in the same way. I think you will have to win over Daro’Xen vas Moreh to any plan of settlement.” 

“I admit, all I have on an intelligence folio is an indication that the Surgeon-Commander might be the best suited for the effort. She is a head of research, is she not?” Zhen’var checked her omnitool.

“She is,” Fera’xero concurred. “The essential problem is that many in the fleet do not want to abandon the dream of Rannoch, Captain. It is our Walled Garden. That  _ means something,  _ even as you Dilgar have, it turns out, taken out a very considerable mortgage to restore Omelos” 

“Settling Rohric and Tira did not end our dream of Omelos, Commander. Finding another world, that the Quarian people are not reliant on an aging fleet… does not end the dream of Rannoch. I can see how it will be a difficult effort to prove the point, however.”

“It would be so very hard for us to adapt to another world, Captain. If Rannoch was ever regained in the future, it might be very hard to regain it in those circumstances, we have always been a suited people when traveling elsewhere, and you can read the accounts of the Asari who had Quarian partners in those days if you like. They’re a memory of a vanished world. We were already having problems, trapped in suits on the surface of our own planet, because of the biological disaster of first contact.”

“I admit… I… am not sure what we could do. The Surgeon-Commander has been studying it, I know, but…” Zhen’var found it  _ quite _ the knotty sort of problem.

“I think we should take the opportunity offered to us no matter what, Captain. But that is why there will be resistance, those are the terms they will frame it in. I am very appreciative of Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur’s efforts, of course, but announcing them, despite the formidable reputation she is already accruing, would not be wise at this juncture.” 

“Agreed, Commander. Your home universe has its’ own hidden currents and dangers, as any other.”

“Then the main thing is to give the Quarians confidence we can prepare a world for them,” Nah’dur noted. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


After the meeting, Nah’dur headed back to her CMO’s office and activated the privacy routines she had hacked into the local computer system quite seamlessly. There was no need for  _ anyone  _ to know about this, as she reached out to Wrex once more, now that she had confirmation. 

“Nah’dur.” His holographic image ghosted into view, the Krogan clan leader’s gruff tone coming through the encryption clearly enough. 

“I have good news. In another two days we will be making a rendezvous with the Migrant Fleet for negotiations. It’s the perfect time for you to bring me the samples I need for the trials, Battlemaster,” she grinned. 

“So it is. Send the coordinates, I’ll be there. Watch yourself, Nah’dur.”

“Yes, I know it’s a dangerous and exposed position. I won’t be leaving the ship at all; we can do a rendezvous at the edge of the fleet, and we have a number of small craft for that. So many traders come to and from the Migrant Fleet, and it has so many different kinds of ships, that will be easy to be lost inside of it.”

“That dangerous woman you hang around with? Keep doing that. It’s easy for people coming after you to get lost in it too.”

“You’ve heard of Commander Imra? You’ve been doing research on us, I see. She is exquisitely dangerous.” 

“You don’t get to live as long as I have by being stupid, kid.”

“Oh, well, of course.” Nah’dur smiled sheepishly. “Yes, I would try to have her handle the transfer.”

“Good.” The Krogan’s eyes seemed to bore into her. “We’ll talk later.”

“We’ll be monitoring Channel 24 Gamma for when they arrive,” Nah’dur answered confidently. “We’ll talk later.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Elia Saumarez was browsing through her e-mails, deleting three for every one she read, with the long practice of someone used to having a government account. She had gone off-shift from her bridge watch thirty minutes before and didn’t really feel like sleeping. 

It was then her hand hovered over one that looked like spam.  _ Alliance All-Service Continuing Education University.  _ With a grimace at the name, she paused, and then opened it. 

And then she double-checked the origin, the signature and the digital verification.  _ Yep, that’s real. You’re going to command school, sister,  _ she thought to herself with an almost weightless feeling. Her electronic learning course Zhen’var had gotten for her had paid off. She was going to command school. 

She was also going to have to be off of the  _ Huáscar  _ for three months. Already, Elia had come so close to the rest of the ship’s crew that it hurt to think about it. But this was also the future, and exactly what her friend wanted for her. She grinned, a bit nervously, and shifted a gloved finger to select the comm line for Zhen’var. 

“Good evening, Elia.” After two chimes, she had an answer. Zhen’var was at her desk by the image, as she pushed some datapads away from the audio pickup. “What is it? You are smiling, so that is a good sign.”

“I have been accepted to Command School, Captain,” Elia answered. “ _ Zhen’var,  _ you did it for me! Thank you!” 

“That is  _ wonderful! _ ” A smile blossomed across the Dilgar woman’s face, teeth flashing. “Ahead of the curve, too!”

“...Thank you,” Elia glanced widely with her eyes, making a cute little expression of happiness. But then her face fell a bit. “However, the orders are abrupt. Apparently there was a slot for me in the next class, so they want me to depart in forty-eight hours and report in ninety-six.”

“So be it. I shall miss you… let me draw up orders to prepare a shuttle for your use, you are qualified, I recall?” Zhen’var reached for her terminal.

“I am, Captain,” Elia answered, and drew herself up. “You shall find me returning a better woman than I left, I promise; I won’t leave this opportunity to pass me by.”

“That reaction is one of many reasons I put you forward for this chance, Commander. Go with my blessing.”

“Zhen’var, you will always be my friend.” She reached for a kerchief, trying to hide the tears forming in her eyes. 

“Thank you, Elia. You have time to pack and brief the hand-off, I shall leave you to it. Let me know when you are departing, and I will see you off myself, my friend.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The rendezvous had required the  _ Huáscar  _ to arrive before the Quarian fleet in a remote system in Terminus. Sitting at MC Yoke and normal cruising stations, the  _ Huáscar  _ had settled into wait. The abrupt departure of Commander Saumarez for training and the anticipation at the arrival of the Quarians were the main chatter aboard in the meantime. 

Ten minutes before the arrival of the Quarian fleet was scheduled, Zhen’var came on the bridge. Daria had been temporarily promoted to one of the Officers of the Watch, and had the conn. Lieutenant Orallian was leading Ops, and Daria had bumped up her own officers into the Watch for Tactical. 

“Commander. Keep the conn, I wanted to be up here to see the Migrant Fleet arrive.” Zhen’var offered, after her arrival was acknowledged.

A moment later, Abebech arrived on the bridge, as well, stepping quietly to the side. “Captain, it is going to be quite the sight,” she observed mildly. 

“Of course, that is why I came up here. The same for you, Commander? The grandest my galaxy has ever known was the Combined Fleet at First Balos. This is… more.”

“Of course it is. There are legends of greater fleets, but…”

“But they are legends. The Migrant Fleet is  _ very _ real.”

Abebech looked distant for a moment. “Perhaps they are. Having seen what we recently saw, I am not so sure,” she answered. “But this is here, in the present, sure, real. Yes, I very much want to see it.”

“Perhaps we should have gone to one of the celestial domes.” Zhen’var murmured, watching the mission clock scroll onwards.

“Here’s their expected time.”

“Ah, it’s appropriate to be on the bridge, enough, Captain,” Abebech answered… And the first flash rippled. Ten ships. Frigates. 

“109th Forward Picket Group requests we identify ourselves,” Bor’erj reported from comms. 

“Send confirmation of our identity,” Daria ordered, “And hold position.”

“They confirm, Ma’am.” Just as Bor’erj finished speaking, his eyes widened. 

With a ripple, ships started to arrive. Ten like before, and then another ten, and another, and another, and another… And these were all frigates. 

“To think, these are just the scouts… do salute each ship that offers us one, please.” Zhen’var gently offered.

“Render honours when given,” Daria instructed, leaning forward with her ears flexing. 

“One thousand ships,” Orallian reported. “All frigates.”

“Here it comes…” Abebech murmured. Just as she did, the cruisers started, wave after wave… And as they formed a circle behind the scouts, the three utterly massive LiveShips appeared in the middle of the cruisers, and then suddenly in a surge around them, all the uncounted ships of a dozen races began to surge forward in a continuous rippling flash of arrival that seemed to just go on and on. 

Even the Captain could not completely hide her awe, as ship after ship, squadron after squadron, came pouring into the system.

Abebech breathed slow and steady, and watched sharply on the screen. “That is the entire Quarian species, seventeen million of them, and yet their fleet … Is rivalled by few in space.” 

“Unfortunately, it is a most fragile fleet, I fear… but that is why we are here.”  _ And I am to negotiate with them. Divine, but this is not a  _ ** _small _ ** _ challenge. _

“If little Quarian children don’t have to grow up in bubbles, we may account ourselves of having done something  _ really grand, _ ” Abebech smiled. “It was marvelous. I won’t forget it,” she added, as the fleet finished arriving. 

“Agreed. I thank you for your presence, Commander.” Zhen’var had a small smile on her face as she turned. “Carry on, Commander Seldayiv.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Artesia was in Café Varna eating cuts of lukanka alongside of a bowl of Pacha and a big slice of black bread, looking out the windows at the immense glittering vastness of artificial stars which represented the points of light that were the Quarian Migrant Fleet. She was continuing to try and experiment with all the different foods that Alexandra could make out of a mix of curiosity and a vague sense of guilt that most people just came in and ordered shashka and meat plates. 

“Lieutenant.” The voice that seemed to float into her ear came in a low rumble, from a figure holding a plate of meshana skara.

Artesia looked up, and offered a smile. “Colonel Fei’nur, a pleasure to see you here,” she gestured with a hand to the table. “Have a seat if you like?”

“Thank you. I would.” Slipping in, the tray slid onto the table with barely a sound as Fei’nur moved into the opposite chair. “You have been exploring the menu, I see. Familiar to dishes from your youth?”

“None, actually; the dishes I mostly remember are Spanish, and Catalan, ones,” she answered with a smile. “You would doubtless like Spanish pork dishes, Colonel. I just want to try something new, and explore. My childhood was war, longing, and flight. It feels very odd to be comfortably seated at a table, even on a warship, getting to try all these dishes I never have before. I think I’d like to try Dilgar cuisine next, actually.”

“That will be… harder than most, Lieutenant de Mas.” There was something in the Colonel’s eyes as she said it. “Not as hard as Quarian, I will grant you.”

“Well, at least I will make you  _ Tostón asado _ , Colonel, if you like. I will just need to find suckling pigs…” Artesia offered a grin. 

“A pity, we could have gotten them on Drachenfeldt.” Fei’nur returned the grin. “We will surely find them on some planet.”

“I think we certainly will,” she nodded.

“In a more serious vein, I will speak to you about my business once our meals are completed?” The older Dilgar woman proposed, as her fork went back to taking a morsel of meat from her plate.

“Certainly so, I agree,” Artesia nodded, working to tuck in to her food, every so often glancing up to be reassured and amazed by the glittering stars of the Migrant Fleet. 

“As the Sides you knew, but even grander for being mobile…?” Fei’nur asked, with a slight lilt to her voice.

“Probably about the same mass of steel in the fleet as in the sides. The  _ LiveShips,  _ now those are impressive,” Artesia nodded. 

“To think, once they were dreadnoughts, I recall. Our greatest fleet… was ten thousand ships, and it  _ staggered _ the galaxy to see and hear of such a feat, this…”

“Nobody should underestimate them,” Artesia said flatly, hands going up as she finished her food, to gesture. “ _ Nobody. _ They kept this fleet going,  _ added ships,  _ for centuries of wandering. I like ‘em. They’re resourceful.” And there was a bemused glint in her eye. “And spacenoids.” 

Fei’nur’s grin showed teeth. “That leaves us with the idea for business. A bit of our plates left, still.” She sounded quite amused herself.

“You’re taking your time with explaining it, Colonel?” Artesia asked, bemused, and now a little curious, too. 

“If I am going to be blunt, I have  _ concerns _ , Lieutenant, and with Commander Saumarez absent, I am intending to propose that you take her usual place on the Captain’s diplomatic entourage.”

Artesia blinked. “You know I’m not nearly as skilled at reading people as she is, Battlemaster? Is this because I am an officer and -- capable of being polite? I admit, Newtypes have a certain … Battlefield sense.”

“And, as you said, Lieutenant; spacenoids. It is not optimal, but I do not believe you will be a fighter pilot your entire career.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Artesia answered, and grinned. “We’ll get Mobile Armours and I’ll switch straightaway.” 

“Mmm.” Fei’nur made a noncommittal noise without returning the grin. “Perhaps.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing what one with this technology can do. Yes, Colonel, I’ll be there.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Is there anything you will need? I have not interacted with Quarians before, other than Commander Fera’xero, though I do admit some sympathy.”

"Absolutely not, Colonel. I will be ready. Like you--I think they deserve it." 


	2. Chapter 2

#  Act Two

  
  


The pilots generally didn’t come down to jarhead territory. Of course, nobody would dare call Fei’nur a jarhead anyway, and maybe that had something to do with it, since the reputation of most pilots was that they couldn’t control themselves when it came to humour at the expense of the rest of the military. 

_ Lar’shan,  _ on the other hand, broke all the stereotypes. And he certainly had plenty of reason to have a conversation with Fei’nur, especially since he had returned to the ship since his short leave, which had been taken somewhere. A very interesting somewhere. 

Fei’nur’s personal space on the Marine decks lacked the stereotypical battle trophies, decorations, holos, flags, and all the rest which seemed to slowly take over the offices of a senior officer. Simple and spartan, like the woman who ruled the ground-pounders of  _ Huáscar  _ with an iron fist, and who stood to greet him. “Welcome back, Lar’shan.”

“Thank you. It was a busy few days to get the wing in order once I returned. I apologise for not making the meeting sooner.” 

“Nonsense, official duties almost always come first. Our lords and masters rather prefer it.  _ Ytar?  _ I hope the journey was productive, I know that it was not a  _ simple _ task I asked of you.”

“Thank you, I would like the  _ Ytar. _ ” He paused, and then nodded. “It was a strange and unfortunate experience to see the ruins of a culture. The Kilrathi have taken the loss of their Empire truly hard. But they are alive, and in numbers which would make most of us envious, I think.”

“Agreed. They will  _ eventually _ recover, but what form that takes is uncertain. Their spirits were shattered. We were broken, but not our spirit was not routed as theirs was.”

“I agree. There were  _ elements  _ which behaved and thought righteously inside of Kilrathi culture, but whether or not those win out is a matter of uncertainty at the moment,” Lar’shan answered. “So, they let me test-fly almost all of their fighters. Some of them are quite impressive.” 

“Impressive enough to expand the contacts we have made thus far, Battle Expert?” His Dilgar rank emphasized the  _ unofficial _ nature of those contacts.

“Yes. I am not sure that the lady’s clan actually has access to an old Bloodfang, but they may know where one crashed and could be retrieved, perhaps by Arterus’ cousin,” Lar’shan answered, “so it wasn’t actually all smoke and mirrors. They seemed receptive to diplomatic contacts as well, and I’d like to encourage… Some of the more positive elements,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “In particular, the technology in the Sorthak is of interest though the lack of manoeuvrability and inadequacies in the design of the aft turret mean it would need modification to be a truly superlative heavy fighter. The Dralthi Mk.VIII is superior to the Thorun in its current mark, but not to the Mongoose. The Paktahn Bomber, on the other hand, is superior to anything we have, period; its throw-weight in torpedoes and missiles and handling while carrying it is superlative.”

“I shall inform the Warmaster of the useful nature of those craft, that we can do our best to study them, and of the lead on acquiring a crashed example. Thank you, Lar’shan. You certainly can keep up your contacts. I will do the same, and recommend to the Warmaster we expand our outreach.”

“You are most welcome, Battlemaster,” he smiled. “I think if we can build a strong alliance of races around us who account us friends, we shall in time be stronger than ever before. It is a worthwhile endeavour. Flying against me, I think the Kilrathi already learned to respect Dilgar.”

“Most pilots with any sense learn respect quickly, when they fly against a Shan.” Fei’nur answered with honest amusement on her face. “For what is worth, I agree. Even if Nah’dur’s effort of outreach seemed silly on first glance, I have since changed my outlook. You stand dismissed, Battle Expert.”

“Battlemaster.” Lar’shan came to attention and saluted, but there was a little grin in his eye. 

  
  
  


The first hours after the  _ Huáscar _ ’s arrival at the meeting-point and the jump-in of the Migrant Fleet had just been an exchange of protocol notes and beam-through protocols and a medical review by Nah’dur of the ship’s environmental systems, while Chief Sherrod was making sure that the Food Management Team had everything ready for the unique dietary requirements of the Quarians. 

Finally, all of the Dilgar personnel, because the ship was to be “dressed” for diplomatic guests, were already in dress uniform, and of course that meant everyone else on the  _ Huáscar  _ had to follow suit. 

Zhen’var was grateful for the excuse to make her ship look at least a  _ little _ smarter, walking the decks for quick spot inspections of the critical parts of the preparations. One could be very proud, at this point, that the  _ Huáscar  _ truly turned out grandly. The Captain was, if she was honest with herself, killing time before the Quarians agreed to send their first delegates to her ship, but it gave her a warm feeling of gratification to see everything coming together.

After a few more hours, Abebech, ‘floating’ since the crew was a bit overtaxed with Elia gone, commed her. “Captain, the Quarians are satisfied with the reports from the Surgeon-Commander and the Admiralty Board is ready to arrive by shuttle. They won’t transport because there is some concern, despite Commander Fera’xero’s assurances, about quantum scale suit fissures from the transporter process. They are rather paranoid about that.”

“Very well. Prepare the side party for the main shuttlebay, please. I will be there to greet them. The best impression we can present, of course”

“Of course, Captain. I will see you there,” Abebech answered mildly. 

“Thank you, Commander.” A warmth suffused Zhen’var’s voice as she let the comms connection close, and she turned her path through the corridors that led aft.

Marines, Security, sideparty, Abebech and Fei’nur. The assemblage growing in the bay when Zhen’var arrived was in dress uniforms, with pulse rifles for Marines and Security, and the bay glimmering. Stasia had provided plenty of room for the Quarian shuttles, and the fighters and shuttles looked splendid.

A single nod to each officer was the Captain’s response, but her gaze shone with pride as she looked about, taking her place at the head of the welcoming party, gloved hands folding behind her reflexively.

Each Admiral arrived on a separate shuttle. 

A single glance up in the direction of the landing director was the only hint of nervousness Zhen’var expressed as she picked out the moving stars that resolved into shuttles. Each from their own ship, each shuttle had its’ own story, she was sure, by how many ships were no longer  _ completely _ Quarian in their parts heritage.

And each one in turn was guided smartly into the bay without a problem by Stasia and her team, and spotted in order. The Quarians didn’t leave their shuttles until the bay doors sealed behind the last.

The opening of the hatches saw the Dilgar captain straighten her back, heels clicking together as she stiffened to stand at attention for the arrival of a  _ board  _ of Admirals. This was diplomacy of a type that was still foreign to her, but there was no choice other than to do her utmost and carry it out.

Five Quarian Admirals, three men, two women. Han’Gerrel, Zaal’Koris, Rael’Zorah, Daro’Xen, Shala’Raan. With their staffs in support of them, there were more than thirty Quarians coming on board the  _ Huáscar,  _ plus the shuttle crews, and the band played, the pipes whistled, and the companies came to attention.

Rael’Zorah exchanged a glance with Han’Gerrel, and the line presented and identified themselves as the music finished. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” he asked formally, for even the Quarian Admiralty Board needed permission, and respected Captains. Zhen’var was the Captain of her ship, and they had done some reading of their own.

“Permission is so granted, Admirals.” The Quarian music faded away as Zhen’var met the diffuse glowing eyes of a Quarian behind their faceplate. “Welcome aboard  _ Huáscar.  _ The hospitality of the ship is yours while you choose to remain aboard her.”

“We will stay until the conclusion of diplomacy,” Zaal’Koris answered. “Thank you, Captain.”

“We shall see if the reputation of Alliance diplomacy holds true.” came from Daro’Xen, as Admiral Shala’Raan finished the round of speeches with a gentle “I expect that the Captain’s reputation will, at least.”

With a nod to the assembly, Abebech flawlessly handled the delicate process of forming honour-guards while dismissing the review, and falling in at Zhen’var’s side for them to go to the negotiation suite. 

_ I hope I am doing well so far, Commander. You certainly are, to my view!  _ She ‘thought’ rather hard in Commander Imra’s direction, as she led the way to where their negotiations would begin.

< _ It’s fine, Captain, and you’re fine,>  _ Abebech answered her explicitly. 

The suite had neatly separated sets of dextro- and levo- food, there was an auditorium for declarations and speeches, a conference table room, a central projector room. Chief Sherrod even had different sets of liveried crew from the Food Management Team so that the orderlies could be told apart based on what they were serving, though it wasn’t that big of a deal since all of the Quarian food was in prepackaged bulbs and vacuum pouches and the other food… wasn’t. 

At least she knew that the dextro food had been prepared to the highest standards; the levi food certainly looked wonderful… but this was a serious negotiation, not a social function. “With your understanding, Admirals, there will be a series of experts brought in during these negotiations to cover various points in the Alliance position, with reciprocal permission being, of course, extended.”

“We will find it more convenient to synchronise our omnitools and suit links with them, and we expect that will be permitted,” Rael’Zorah answered smoothly. He seemed composed and calm about it all, the sort of person who was always looking for an advantage. 

“Of course, Admiral.” Zhen’var answered. “There will be monitoring for unusual communications, but no decryption of communication being sent on Quarian channels.”

“That is agreeable.” 

They would go to the auditorium first. There, after introductions, Zhen’var would have to give a speech essentially speaking to the vision of peace and good relations, confirming the intention to assist the Quarians in finding a new homeworld. These events just required speeches.

“ _ Keelah si’yah. _ ” Zhen’var began, with her head bowed, as she invoked the Quarian benediction. “It is with the intention to bring this hope into being that we are gathered here today, and to this cause that the Alliance has tasked my ship and crew, though a hard journey to the farthest stars. It is to this hope that we  _ pledge _ ourselves, we people of the Union who serve aboard  _ Huáscar,  _ who have known the wrenching agony of being cast out of our own  _ Edinnu _ , and whose desperate efforts and toil were in the end given reward.”

Her back spasming with nervousness, Zhen’var swallowed past a dry throat as she went on. “It is my hope to see the Quarian people to be given a place where their natural talent will be recognized, where malice and prejudice have no place and no home. The approach of the Flotilla should  _ not  _ be a cause for concern, and the Alliance reaches out its’ hand to the Quarian people, in immediate assistance freely given, and in hope for a stable, permanent future.”

“She hit the right notes,” Abebech whispered to Will as the two politely applauded along with many of the others. “That was exceptionally hard for her, though.”

“I don’t know how they select starship captains to also be diplomats,” Will admitted with a grimace. “I’d never do that well.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Abebech answered. “Let’s see where this takes us.” 

Zhen’var stepped away from the lectern with a smile that somehow looked genuine, despite how her emotions roiled as she moved to sit at her place on the table. Now she had to lay out the Alliance proposals for how to turn pretty words into  _ reality. _

After several briefings on the agenda and summaries of work, they broke to settle in the conference room. It was there that Rael’Zorah first touched on the problem which Fera’Xero had alluded to. “Captain, you speak fine words, but you are proposing something that might not exist. There is one world that we know is safe for Quarians: Rannoch.”

“We will not know if we do not make the attempt, Admiral. My ship’s Chief Medical Officer has briefed me on her understanding of the situation, namely that there is some evidence of primordial bacterial exchange, which the Perseus Veil likely prevented on Rannoch. Our intention would be to concentrate the search on areas where astrological conditions also greatly reduce the chance of such exchanges. It is a multiversal big data problem, as we are approaching it, searching through observed data of these areas in all universes we have access to, then a joint task group of my ship and a squadron of your own would conduct a search, starting with the most likely areas first, over several years if needed. There is support for this, but no political will for any violent conflict with the Geth, Admiral.”

“The logistics effort of moving the entire fleet to another universe are an overwhelming problem,” Han’Gerrel countered. “Is that, and a search that may last years, really cheaper than a war that with your assistance might be over in a week? Captain, your nation will need to help support the Fleet for the years you are searching. Otherwise, the peoples of this universe will only turn harder against us. Indeed, if we are to follow your advice, we might as well leave now!”

“If a decision is made by the Conclave that it wishes to travel to Alliance space, then the Flotilla  _ may do so _ .” Zhen’var leaned forward. “It is believed that approximately two hundred fleet tenders would be required, and I have the authority to indicate that we  _ will _ support the Migrant Fleet if our proposals are, in some form, accepted. Whether or not it is cheaper, Admiral, the Alliance government will not support the Flotilla in a war of offensive character, when it can extend a hand of support and friendship in peace to the Quarian people.”

“You speak words we have not heard the like of in many years, Captain. I wonder, do you truly know the scale of what you are glibly offering?” Admiral Daro’Xen mused, with a sharpness beneath her words. 

“Replicators have made morality much easier for the peoples who have them,” Abebech offered from Zhen’var’s side in response to Admiral Daro’xen.

“Such a technological advance would greatly improve conditions within the Fleet, and reduce the need for Alliance support.” The avarice that the head of Special Projects regarded replicators with was not well-hidden.

“That is certainly a matter for discussion during these talks, Admiral.” Zhen’var replied, already feeling her head starting to pulse with pain behind her eyes.  _ I feel as if I am outnumbered five to one… _

The discussions went on from there as the Quarians tried to understand the full range of what was being offered to them. It was clear that Fera’Xero’s intelligence had been largely correct, though the Commander himself was absent. Will had pointed out that it was unfair for him to have to participate where there might be a conflict of interest between his oath and his people, he could be a resource, but he shouldn’t be at the talks. 

The first day ended with Zhen’var trying to figure out whether or not the Alliance could  _ actually  _ provide the level of support the Quarians wanted when moving into another universe to wait out the discovery of a homeworld. That was the key thing, the Quarians were actually quite willing to move: This universe had done nothing but ill-will to them for centuries, and so even without a homeworld, the prospect of leaving was a desirable one if it meant less abuse of Quarian youth and more opportunities to engage in resource extraction without fighting. But one of the key paranoias that Daro’Xen, Han’Gerrel and Rael’Zorah had clearly expressed was over how to get back if a new homeworld wasn’t found.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The matter of how to handle supporting the Quarian fleet for a sustained period of time was one she found herself mulling over long into the night after the receptions had ended, as she moved to the comms terminal in her quarters, moving to sit with a mug in hand. Now it was time to see if she could come back tomorrow with data. She looked at the problem from several angles…  _ Possible. Difficult, but possible.  _ “Get me Portland. I will wait.” She spoke into the pickup for the duty comms officer on the bridge.

As she waited, the door chimed. They still hadn’t disabled the computer voice function since the last update. “Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur.”

“Come in, Commander!” she called out, while pressing the door release.

“Captain,” Nah’dur offered solicitously. “It seems the first day of negotiations has gone well,” she said, moving to stand by the chair in front of Zhen’var and her desk. 

“To a point. Stand easy, Commander. Sit, if you wish.” The seal on the projector behind her and the ‘Waiting to Connect’ screen showed rather well what she was doing

“Ooh, that screen. I’m sorry.” Nah’dur murmured before moving to sit. “I need Commander Imra to undertake a small mission to pick something up for me, Captain.”

“You need… please explain?” Zhen’var’s voice was quizzical, though she covered her confusion with the ever-present mug on her desk.

“I’ve been providing medical assistance to the Krogan, Captain. It’s within my remit for independent study as an Alliance Medical Officer.”

“Whenever you immediately provide justification as that, Commander, I admit some concern. When you say you are providing medical assistance to the Krogan… do you mean of a sort that has  _ strategic _ implications?” She almost did  _ not _ want the answer, but had to confirm her suspicion.

“They have a right to not die just like we do, and it is within my ethical duties as a practicing Surgeon in the Alliance,” Nah’dur answered levelly, looking a little challenged. “Of  _ course  _ I am trying to cure the genophage, who else could?”

“The point is granted. I am not attacking you, Commander, but you do understand the  _ consequence _ … is Colonel Fei’nur aware of this activity, Commander Nah’dur?” Zhen’var’s expression had not sharpened, but she had a flicker of worry across her face. This was a wasp’s nest that her sister was going to be shaking violently with her actions.

“I am something of an open book to Fei’nur,” Nah’dur answered frankly, and stretched her shoulders. “Captain, I just need biological samples to be picked up from a ship Battlemaster Urdnot Wrex is sending them on, and conveyed back to the  _ Huáscar.  _ I need to do critical embryo testing to confirm that my solution is actually safe. I am, in fact, rather close to being done.”

“I am _not pleased_ to discover you have been doing this without informing me, Nah’dur…” Her sister’s gaze flashed with annoyance. “You may ask Commander Imra, yes, but you are _not_ to carry out projects that may jeopardize yourself or the ship without at least _informing_ me, Nah’dur. If the Citadel Council finds out you are doing this…”

“Wrex is trying to save his people from extinction,” Nah’dur’s face pouted up. “Isn’t that what the Alliance is supposed to be about? I mean, really, the Citadel Council can go hang.”

“Is that before or after someone attempts to make a shuttle you are traveling on  _ explode _ , Nah’dur? The Council Spectres are this universe’s counterpart to Fei’nur, and someone  _ will _ send them after you if word of this becomes generally known.”

“I carry my personal shield with me everywhere and I sleep with a gun under my pillow,” Nah’dur protested. 

“What if they do not care for collateral damage, sister…? I  _ worry _ for you, not just as your captain, Nah...”

Nah sighed. “Sister-Zhen, how will I redeem Dur without feats like these? What better challenge can I lay at the feet of the multiverse? I want to help the Krogan to show how it is done, and to give us a reputation.” 

“I do not say you should not, or you can not… but I  _ beg _ you to be cautious to nearly the point of paranoia. You make enemies of sentients full of hate and guile.”

“All right. I’m sorry, Sister-Zhen. You will send Abebech..?”

“Of course I will.  _ You _ will fully brief Colonel Fei’nur, in turn, that she may  _ plan _ accordingly, is that understood, Commander?”

“Understood. I will find her at on--” Nah’dur trailed off as Zhen’var’s comm started chirping with the connection finally having gone through. “...Right now,” she added, and rose, snapping a crisp, jaunty salute to Zhen’var. 

“Thank you, Nah’dur.” Came the Captain’s reply, with an honest smile, before she spun her chair, straightening her jacket, waiting for the soft noise of the hatch closing before bringing up the connection.

The screen resolved into the figure of the Alakin Vrishke, who was the Undersecretary for Fleet Diplomacy Initiatives--the person with the awkward job of coordinating the situations in which, like in Starfleet, the Alliance military was leading diplomatic efforts. 

“Undersecretary.” Zhen’var inclined her head politely. “The Migrant Fleet wishes to depart this universe while waiting upon the discovery of a new homeworld. They will return only if we fail at finding one - I privately suspect to attempt an assault on Rannoch.”

“Do they propose a plan on where to go, Captain?”

“Alliance space.” Managing not to flinch at the implication was rather impressive, she would tell herself later. “The details depend on the vote of the Conclave.”

“Supporting the Migrant Fleet ourselves will be… A significant concession. They can process raw materials themselves, correct?” The Alakin looked almost perturbed at the prospect of it. It was easy for the Alliance to want to help the Quarians settle… And another thing entirely to maintain a fleet of 50,000 ships at government expense. 

“They do have factory ships, yes. The other alternative, though I know it has knock-on effects, is to supply replicator technology, which would reduce the mass requirements tremendously by only requiring us to provide fuel, sir.”

The Undersecretary paused. “They would need to have their association agreement signed just as your people have, Captain,” he answered. “It would be the best alternative. I agree that getting the Quarian fleet to another universe is important; its movements cause continuous risks of conflict throughout Citadel and associated space.” 

“Agreed. I will present an association agreement, sir, but if we can give them the support they need…” Zhen’var paused. “There may be less than twenty million Quarians, but every power in this universe has been criminally foolish in not taking them in.”

“I agree with you,” the Undersecretary chuckled, which from an Alakin was a kind of cawing. “If we can put them down in an un-colonised region of space to collect fuel and equipment themselves and supply replicator technology, it will be easily approved, Captain. If fuel support is needed, that will entail a more substantial debate in the Senate.” 

“They are used to supporting themselves, if they can concentrate on seeking out fuel, I am sure there will be hundreds of ships soon enough doing just that. If a draft association agreement can be sent,  _ along _ with the specific elements of permitted technological sharing under the same, I am present it at our next session. I think this is a promising start.”

“I will have my staff get that out to you by early tomorrow morning, Captain.” Which was reasonable, since of course considering the vagarities of space, the Navy ran on Portland time. 

“Thank you, Undersecretary. I shall update you based on the reaction.”

  
  
  


Nah’dur, in the meanwhile, had made her way down to the Marine spaces in the engineering hull where Fei’nur was berthed. She had insisted on being with her troops, and it made Nah’dur getting down there from Officers’ Country in the upper saucer a bit of an adventure through the kilometre long starship. 

As she passed into the Marine spaces, there was a slight change in the feeling around her. Marines squared up their posture and offered a sharp, formal. “Surgeon-Commander.” in greeting as she passed. Fei’nur was in her office; she kept the door held open most of the time she was in residence. She heard a polite; “ _ Huma ta Humas,  _ Highness. Thank you.” before a console bleeped.

Nah’dur rapped her gloved knuckles on the doorjam. “Colonel Fei’nur,” she said. Her voice needed no introduction to Fei’nur who had known her since she was a kit. 

“Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur! A pleasure, do come in, sit.” The marine closed the hatch behind the doctor, and her face  _ did _ break into a smile. “What brings you all the way down here, Nah’dur?”

“Exercise,” Nah’dur teased. “I walked the whole way. The turbolift seems like cheating.” She decided not to comment on the conversation she had heard the tail end of… Until she had impulsively changed her mind a moment later as she stepped in and closed the door. “Were you… Did you make a new friend, Fei’nur?” 

“You were there at our hot-wash, Nah’dur. You heard what I said.” came the quick, easy answer.

“Oh.” Nah’dur opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Well.” She changed the subject. “I wanted to talk to you about Battlemaster Urdnot Wrex.” 

Fei’nur audibly sighed, and leaned back in her chair. “Your Krogan contact. You are preparing to do something that can no longer be hidden, Nah’dur?”

“I got the Captain’s permission to send Abebech to recover biological samples from a contact ship,” Nah’dur answered. “It’s second-stage clinical testing for a partial cure for the genophage.” She looked inordinately proud.

“I want to know, in exacting detail, very single time, place, and method of communication you have had regarding this project with someone. The only exceptions are  _ in-person _ communication on a Union _ planet _ , or aboard this ship when we were not docked.” Leaning forward, Fei’nur’s eyes had locked onto Nah’dur, narrowed and dangerous.

Nah’dur rolled her eyes, sighed, and reached down into her pocket for a small Centauri style data crystal. “Of course, I expected you would ask, so I prepared it on an isolated persocomp I wiped afterwards. I’ve been communicating with Wrex through a secured private comms link that runs from Alliance territory through the Solarians and then into the Thessian financial services. So the message is being burrowed through the security applied to interuniversal stock transactions.”

Fei’nur let out a grunt. “Which means there are likely only three to four intelligence agencies who know about this. Our  _ issue  _ is that one of the likely suspects  _ cares _ .” She took the data-crystal. “Nah’dur, as long as we are in this universe, you are in  _ grave _ danger. Outside it, you  _ must _ exercise extreme care. You are almost certainly  _ marked for death  _ by the Special Tactics Group.  _ Do you understand me, Nah? _ ” Her voice turning gravelly with emotion by the end, Fei’nur’s almost desperate look stayed fixed on her old ward’s face all the while.

“Yes I am. Just like Brakiri Intelligence and Drazi Intelligence and at least some rogue elements in Narn Intelligence probably also have me marked for death, along with all of my sisters?” Her eyes flashed. “I am not afraid of having taken on the danger, Fei’nur. But I am aware. I have put myself in danger, and I probably can’t leave the ship.” 

“Not without me with you, no, and it is  _ different _ . They want to kill you for revenge without bringing the Alliance down on them. STG wants to kill you  _ now _ and  _ before _ you succeed. I cannot predict how desperate they are. Desperate assassins are dangerous, as they often do not care about extraction afterwards. Remember  _ everything _ I have taught you.”

Nah’dur stiffened to attention and brought her hand up in salute. “I will honour your lessons, Battlemaster. I am doing this for our people.” One could see it in those green eyes. She  _ meant it.  _

“I will brief Security, without details. And… Nah’dur? You are doing well.  _ She _ would approve of your fearlessness.”

Nah’dur’s face shone with pride. “We will have friends when this is done. We will write a new chapter of glory… Thank you, Fei.” 

With a single nod, Fei’nur cycled her office hatch. “Thank you for stopping by, Surgeon-Commander.” Turning her comms panel after a last smile and nod to the ship’s doctor, she keyed up intra-ship comms. “Colonel Fei’nur to Major Richards, would you be able to stop by my office? We have a situation to discuss...”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Storing one perfectly good spaceship inside of another one was always one of those odd decisions which the crew of the  _ Huáscar  _ just had to make do with. Abebech settled into her command chair, holding a mug of coffee and looking at the display read-outs. 

“Christmas tree green across the board,” Lt. Veeringen reported from engineering.

“We have clearance, Ma’am,” the comm rating, 1PO Getty, read off.

“Helm?” Abebech asked Ca’elia simply at those words.

“Ready to answer in all respects, Captain.” came the quick reply from the Dilgar at the console.

Abebech took a drink of her coffee and nodded slowly. She knew the reason for this mission--Zhen’var trusted her with it--but she’d have to be circumspect with the rest of her crew. “Take her out, Leftenant.” 

“Understood. Clearing all moorings… zero-zero. Thrusters, astern one-quarter...” There was no need to rush the intricate process of moving one full-grown starship free of another.

Abebech waited patiently, listening to the status reports and letting Ca’elia do her job. Her eyes were not focused on the Dilgar Lieutenant, she expected her job at shiphandling to be precise and competent by now. It was not long before she called out to the Captain; “Free, clear, and awaiting a course, Captain.”

“System sector K-49, X-19, Y-20, Z-1,” Abebech instructed, giving the coordinates in local reference rather than a fixed stellar position, which was unusual to begin with. “Full impulse.”

“System sector K-49, X-19, Y-20, Z-1, full impulse, aye, Captain.” Her hands moved over her console, bringing the engines to life, spinning  _ Heermann  _ about to the required course.

“Kept up a careful watch in the midst of this fleet and obey Traffic Control from the Quarian fleet at all times,” Abebech observed. 

“Keep careful watch and obey Quarian Traffic Control, aye.” With Abebech being hands-off, Ca’elia was watching her repeater displays warily, weaving through the incredibly congested local space with a deft touch.

“We will be making a rendezvous with a Krogan owned vessel and taking aboard hazmat samples to return to the  _ Huáscar  _ for analysis,” Abebech explained matter-of-factly. “It would not be appropriate, I am afraid, my crew, to explain more.”

Privately, Abebech wondered if her absence from the  _ Huáscar  _ was really that wise. 

It spoke well for her crew’s faith in her that they didn’t even glance to each other with the unasked questions such a pronouncement had to generate.

“It’s nice to have business in the midst of the diplomacy.”

“Certainly, Commander,” Goodenough chuckled. “We don’t know what it is, but well enough, anyway.” The crew of the  _ Heermann  _ had adapted to the little legend that Abebech had become after ‘The ‘Verse Mission’. They had all been ordered to secrecy, but nonetheless, the whispers, the sense of it all, continued.

Abebech smiled affiably. If anything, she seemed  _ more  _ laid back after that, with her crew on the  _ Heermann.  _ She had taken to  _ trusting  _ them--implicitly. They had earned the finest, closest kind of bond that existed.

“Something of a fifty thousand body problem, isn’t it, Leftenant?” She asked Ca’elia comfortably. 

“Yes, Captain.” came the reply from the young Dilgar, sounding as distracted as she actually  _ was _ , manouvering their attacker through the congested tangle of the Migrant Fleet.

“We just have to trust everything will go fine with these negotiations,” Abebech remarked as she finished her mug and looked to Goodenough. “My personal objective is to see a day when Quarian children aren’t in bubbles.”

“I’d drink to that, Captain.”

“And that’s why you’re a damned good man, Jonathan.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next day started with the complicated ceremonial of avoiding offending anyone with the split breakfast, and then getting down to the details of negotiations. On one side  _ was  _ the heads of State of the Quarian nation, and on the other side… Well, at least Zhen’var had a conversation to go off of with an Undersecretary!

“Good morning, Admirals.” Back in her dress uniform again, the Dilgar woman looked far more confident. “Based on our discussions yesterday, I can, subject to negotiation on certain conditions, confirm that the Alliance would permit and welcome the Migrant Fleet to enter our space. Admiral Daro’Xen, with regards to your inquiry, replicator technology is available to any state willing to enter Association with the Alliance, as the Honourable Union of my people has.”

There was an exchange of glances among the Quarian admirals. Han’Gerrel seemed to make a frustrated noise. “That is an obfuscation. We will need more than just replicators to safely sustain the fleet in another galaxy, Captain.” 

“Of course, Admiral.” She brought forward a datapad, sliding it across the table. “This is the listing of technology permissible to associated states as per the latest regulations. The current thinking is to send the Flotilla to an uninhabited area, thence free permission to harvest resources in the region to your Migrant Fleet.”

“That is how we normally operate, while trying to trade. Would we be allowed to trade?” Zaal’Koris asked.

“Better to provide fuel,” Rael’Zorah said,  _ sotto-voice.  _

“Trade permissions are included in most Association agreements, I am waiting on Portland to forward me a customized proposal for yourselves and the Conclave to view and debate, sirs. A request for fuel supply can be made, but would require debate by the Senate to consider whether to move the relevant budgetary appropriation, a political matter that I do not have the authority to promise.”

Daro’Xen had gotten her hands on the datapad, and her eyes could be seen moving as she scrolled down the list.

Han’Gerrel looked frustrated. “Scavenging far from our usual sources, we would be dependent on you for fuel, and you cannot make us guarantees? Captain, we might be a derelict nation, without means of survival, if that came to pass! How can you offer us something better than returning home in that?”

“You are saying you are unable to harvest fuel from planetary sources, Admiral? I had been unaware, and the offer had been made on the assumption that a concentration upon a singular resource would greatly improve the Fleet’s mining efficiency.” 

“It is unwise to maintain the survival of a people on a single resource,” Han’Gerrel answered, and rather fuming, stalked off back to the beverage bulb line. 

Daro’Xen instead quietly broke the conversation to lead Zhen’var away. “Captain, that old War-Horse is utterly determined to crush the Geth in main battle,” she said softly. “It is a fool’s errand. They are our creations, our inheritance. Our problem, in the end. One we can solve from galaxies away as easily as next to them, where their power reaches. Ancestors, but even his officers are such martinets they might as well be VI’s themselves.You shouldn’t think too much of his protests.  _ Of course  _ we can suck down a gas giant to refuel the fleet. We have done it before in part. He just didn’t want to admit it.” 

“The Geth problem can be best approached by a Quarian people who are  _ safe and secure. _ If you can make  _ everything _ with energy, then…” Zhen’var gestured to encompass  _ Huáscar _ . “If we can ensure the Fleet is safe and secure while we are searching for a homeworld, we can take the  _ pressure _ off your ships’ systems, and I can not find fault with such an outcome.”

“You have won me over,” Daro’Xen answered frankly. “Rendering retaliation against our people impossible makes the Geth problem one we can deal with. Widespread access to technology and trade is more important. Your own people provide an example of this, and frankly, I am very impressed by Dilgar abilities in numerous fields. There is certainly enough room in the multiverse for both of us to specialise in the same way.” 

“If one is to be stereotypical, a Dilgar makes three universe’s technologies work together as if it was intended from the start. A Quarian builds a starship from a food processor, circuit board, and chunk of eezo, if you will forgive that flippancy, Admiral. Most Dilgar see in Quarians a people similar to us; and ones we are most eager to work alongside.”

Daro’Xen seemed suspicious for a moment, but one got the impression of a coy smile even if one could never tell through the mask. “Well, Captain, I do indeed believe that will be a profitable relationship. Let us see, then, if we can win over Han’Gerrel. The old warhorse needs to accept that the universe has changed. I think that Rael’Zorah will be more practical when the time for a final decision has come, I respect his intelligence.” 

“As you say, Admiral. Thank you for the confidence. Alas, but there are not a great many surplus dreadnoughts about, but there are the dregs and cast-offs of the Reich’s War Machine, which could perhaps be acquired.”

Daro’Xen eyed her for a moment. “I admit, I was not expecting you to offer suggestions on how we could acquire dreadnoughts.”

“As I said, Dilgar have on the whole, great sympathies for the Quarian people, Admiral. We would have done such things ourselves, but if we were not economically prostrate.” 

“If you were not economically prostrate, we would not be having this conversation,” Daro’Xen answered cynically. “However, I am not here for counterfactual postulates. For now I would rather deal with your people than any others. If we can work out the details of the support, we could carry the vote now, but for this issue I will instead try for unanimity, Captain.” 

“I agree with the wisdom, Admiral. I hope to have further information for tomorrow’s session.” She clicked her heels, and bowed her head. “Admiral.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Elia had tried to make the best possible time to Naval Station Armstrong to report for routing to the final location of her class, folding and unfolding a paper copy of her travel orders because it was quite likely that her omnitool would be rebooting at the exact moment she needed them out. She’d managed to catch a ride on the  _ Minneapolis,  _ one of the big new Darglan tech dreadnoughts under the command of a newly minted Captain Danielle Verdes. They had fortunately managed a long and rather entertaining conversation on the  _ Huáscar _ ’s starfighter operation tempo. 

Making the connection to a commercial liner, she had barely gotten any sleep, considering how hard she had worked to transition her department in the few days she’d had before departing. Running on about ten hours in four days and unable to sleep between the constant transfers, she’d finally gotten to Naval Station Armstrong at about 0200 Portland. The Navy Lodge was stuffed into one of the docking arms and she had to take the internal tube train to the opposite end of the station to reach it. By the time she arrived she figured the bags under her eyes were larger than her eyes themselves, and her efforts to hide them by applying more makeup were steadily starting to fail.

_ Travel is always hell, no matter which way you’re doing it,  _ she mentally groused as she arrived at the desk and rang the bell a few times, unslinging her duffel. Nobody showed up. The temptation to unstrap her backpack as well was steadily growing overwhelming.  _ You know if you take it off that the desk clerk will show up.  _

She gave in and started to take it off anyway. Precisely at the moment that she was slinging it to the floor, the guy behind the desk showed up, wearing a Polo with a logo declaring him to be a proud teammember of Precision Support Services.  _ Contractors.  _ In fact, the Corps generally had a good relationship with its own contractors, who were often P-1s and P-2s who weren’t legally in the Corps but who still had a hard time finding work in the civilian market, but she had been steadily learning that for other governments … This was manifestly not the case. 

“Welcome to The Navy Lodge at Armstrong,” the man said in only the most bored tone ever. “Can I see your travel orders, Ma’am?” 

Elia made a little noise and fished out the paper, handing it over. He looked slightly irritated at having to unfold the unfamiliar paper copy and then run it through the scanner, but it at least flashed green afterwards, which was all that really mattered. “Okay, I’ve got your overnight assignment as a visiting officer. You’ll have one of our private hotel style rooms…”

“Can I just have the key, please? I really need some rack time.” 

“I just need you to burst me your government travel account code.” 

Elia sighed and linked the omnitool. At least she could tell he had no interest in her, no contempt for telepaths, not even any real recognition of the gloves. She was just another Damned Officer showing up in the Middle of the Night and distracting him for the tri-dee he would rather be getting paid to watch. It was rather refreshing, actually. 

“Thank you Ma’am.”

Walking past him and into the confusing warren of rooms, she found her own and keyed through. Unfortunately the habits ingrained in her after decades of Corps life couldn’t be escaped. She stripped, used her makeup removing towelettes and moisturizer on her face to make up for the constant layering, and only then collapsed into bed. 

She woke up nine hours later, which gave her just enough time to take a hollywood shower, dry her hair, put on her makeup, get in uniform, pack up, sling her bags, breeze out, and get to the Training Office exactly on time, one more traveling officer on the big station. 

She read the name of the Petty Officer behind the desk. He’d probably always been a pencil pusher, but Elia was impeccably polite by nature. “Hey, Chief. Here are my orders,” she said, and synched her omnitool. “I just need to know the next leg to the training site and when I’m supposed to depart. My orders were only to the depot here.” 

The Chief ran the orders and then frowned and typed in something else. Elia tried to keep herself from audibly sighing.  _ Of course some database is broken and he has to do everything manually.  _ She could feel his bored and confused frustration, but it only grew as the minutes past. That bothered her. 

“Lieutenant Commander?” 

“Yes, Chief?” Elia glanced back over, her own face pursed in consternation now, as well.

“You’re not in the system. You weren’t selected for training.”

“But those are valid orders, Chief.” She could sense the frustration in people piling up behind her.

“Yes--I know, Ma’am. But you’re not in the training database. They were issued by mistake.” 

“Are you sure it isn’t just an error with the training database?” 

“There isn’t even a profile.”

“What if it was accidentally deleted?” Elia speculated, feeling like she was flailing. 

“Why don’t you call Rear Admiral Tiywinit yourself since she signed the orders?” The Chief pushed back. “Ma’am, there’s twelve people in line behind you now.” 

“I will,” Elia answered in frustration, taking the orders back. She didn’t even bother to leave, and standing there, commed the Admiral’s office directly from her omnitool. 

The secretary took down the notes quickly. “I’ll check it out for you, Lieutenant Commander. I don’t have the slightest idea what’s going on. Please wait.” 

“Of course,” Elia answered. With a soft groan, she wandered off to find a replimat and get herself some tea and a scone. Having done so, she found a tri-dee that wasn’t on yet and looked up a Test Match, India versus Ireland in some universe. About twenty minutes later, the Admiral’s office commed her back.

“Commander, this is Admiral Tiywinit’s office. That isn’t the Admiral’s valid signature. The signature record in her 2FA doesn’t have it. Ma’am… It almost looks like these orders were  _ forged. _ ”

“Nobody on the  _ Huáscar  _ would do that to me,” Elia answered defensively. “And I sure as hell wouldn’t drag myself to Armstrong and back for no reason.” 

“I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense. But it’s all I have, Ma’am. There’s an IT security detachment on Armstrong, you should take the files to them.” 

“Thank you.”  _ I think.  _ When the call ended, she started off immediately. 

What followed was a bizarre journey that lasted five minutes of walking an hour of waiting as they wouldn’t let her in past the office after taking the data. Some bored person in the section was only helping her, she could tell, solely because it let him get out of the mind-numbing mandatory training he had due for another day, so he coded it urgent and started working. 

She brought the Test Match back up on her omnitool.  _ This is surreal.  _

It was 1352 Portland time when the cryptanalytic Warrant Officer returned with a seriously concerned look on his face and a Alakin Commander in an Intelligence uniform following. 

“Commander Saumarez?” 

“Sir?” Elia turned the Match off again and go up to stand at attention. “I take it you’ve found something?” 

“Your personnel records were hacked, Commander. Do you have any idea why?” 

Elia was almost floored by the news. It sounded ridiculous. She stood there for a moment, thoughtlessly. Then she jerked in place.  _ Normally in the diplomatic talks I’d be an extra layer of security. If they didn’t want that there…  _ “The only thing I can think of, Commander, means that we should  _ urgently  _ alert the  _ Huáscar.  _ Someone may be planning something at the diplomatic talks with the Quarians aboard.” 

He looked like he didn’t want to allow it, like he was more suspicious about the entire situation in general. But then he allowed a single nod. “We’ll send a single alert and direct Security aboard to begin their own investigation. Then I’d like to ask you some questions about the circumstances of how this happened.”

“Of course, Commander. Let’s just get that alert out, quickly, please. It’s the second day of the talks.”

“We’ll send it from here.” 

"Like hell you will, that's my ship!"


	3. Act 3

# Act Three

  
  


In the afternoon, the meetings resumed. Now they had reached the point that Rael’Zorah was taking point on trying to extract as many concessions as possible over the details of support, the right to select the destination universe, and guarantees of support in settling and terraforming that he could. All-in-all, that actually meant that the situation was looking good for a consensus agreement. Daro’Xen clearly felt so, and worked in her own technological concerns and expectations as they went. 

Feeling more than slightly outgunned, and lacking political support Captain Zhen’var was trying to _ give _ concessions she actually had the _ authority _ to, having to more than once answer that “Such a question will require a Senate debate, Admiral, I am not authorized to make such a commitment.”

It was very manifestly a case of five Admirals, used to exercising political power, all sitting around and engaging with a mere Captain, who precisely because she respected them, felt a little tug of being at least somewhat deferential. This foreign policy process was in fact strange--and without Abebech there, the woman who seemed steadiest and most comfortable as her support in this kind of affair wasn’t available for her. Fei’nur was gone too, taking a turn leading the security efforts so Richards could actually get some rack time. 

She still was not sure why the Alliance had decided to refrain from sending a diplomat from the foreign office for the negotiations, but she did her best. “I think, Admirals, the afternoon recess is upon us. Shall we?”

  
  
  
  


Artesia was talking to some of Shala’Raan’s junior officers. She found them companionable, dedicated people who were trying their hardest to grapple with interuniversal logistics for their Admiral, who had been one of the most positive. She wanted the civilian ships away from the hate, the bigotry, the geth. The Alliance provided that and Shala’Raan had a fundamental confidence in her people’s ability to deal with resource extraction in another universe even if the details of the material support from the Alliance were not ideal. 

She watched the Captain and the Admirals start to move to the refreshment line and collect the offerings in packaged food provided to them. The ship’s crew could enjoy real refreshments… But it felt a little hollow when the polite people that you were talking to were stuck slurping out of bags. Artesia--sometimes she still regretted not just joining up under Sayla--wanted to be more courteous than that. She settled for a cup with a lid and a straw, it seemed symbolically equivalent. 

A few minutes after they had gone through the line, as Artesia was socialising with some of the Quarians, she abruptly saw one of the Quarian representatives from Han’Gerrel’s detachment begin to shiver and shake, and then collapse onto the ground, on the opposite side of the Conference Suite from where she was standing. _ Oh crap. _

  
  
  
  
  


Chief Sherrod looked transfixed with horror and embarrassment at the fact that one of the Quarians had gotten sick, but she was immediately on it. “Medical Emergency in Conference Suite One, Main Hospitality Room.” 

Nah’dur was in one of the other rooms and came at a dead run. She had been conversing with the Quarians cheerfully--she had been extensively talking with Admiral Daro’Xen and her staff in fact (Daro’Xen’s eyes always seemed to be bright when talking to Nah’dur)--she raced up to the side of the collapsed Quarian where several other Quarians clustered around him. Nah’dur was _ always _prepared, and in this case she had a backpack on for the conference with her full medical kit. 

“It was an incorrect chiriality beverage, Surgeon-Commander!” One of the other members of Han’Gerrel’s staff urgently said. 

“That’s ridiculous, everything was colour-coded, shape-coded and served from separate tables, we had every passive protection possible,” Nah’dur snapped as she ran the scans, frowning, and frowning again.

“_ Keelah, _I saw it myself, Surgeon-Commander.”

Nah’dur grimaced and turned away from the Quarian’s friends, rising as the crash cart arrived. “Treat as reverse-chiriality poisoning,” she instructed to the medical team as she swung in with them. She still sounded almost grudging about the diagnosis as she focused on the results of her scanner with a suspicious look dominating her face. 

  
  
  
  


“Lieutenant?” 

Daria was drinking _ lltahk _ tea on the bridge and observing the manoeuvring plots for keeping them out of trouble in the midst of a fleet of _ fifty thousand ships, _whose blips completely dominated any tactical display. As the Officer of the Watch, it was all her job and her responsibility with the Captain conducting diplomacy as well as most of the senior officers.

She paused, flexed an ear, and looked back to Lieutenant Orallian, who had asked the question. “Go ahead, Ops.” 

“We’re getting a priority message from Naval Station Armstrong. It’s from Naval Intelligence. It says that Commander Saumarez’s orders were faked and… Getting a live message.” 

“Put it on,” Daria put her tea aside, blinking in confusion. Then she heard the familiar voice. 

“_ Huáscar _Actual, This is Commander Saumarez. I believe there is a threat to the ship…”

“_ Elia?” _Daria answered, blinking hard. “Why do you…?” 

“Leftenant Seldayiv, it might happen at any time..!”

Daria thought about the embarrassment to the government of having an alert in the middle of the conference. She wasn’t sure in the slightest what was going on. But she trusted Elia Saumarez. 

One of her blue fingers slipped down across the selector and firmly depressed the button which indicated a security alert. 

“My orders were faked, Leftenant. They wanted me away from the conference,” Elia was explaining, and it sounded like shushing someone else speaking in the background as she did. 

Daria tensed. “Alert’s called, Commander.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Artesia was wearing a small, unobtrusive earpiece linked to her Omnitool. The alert chimed into it. She spied Nah’dur and frowned. Something was wrong, _ just wrong, _about the entire situation, and she started to move toward the crash cart as it was leaving, following them, and moving from a fast walk into a run as she listened to the report from the bridge. 

As she did, Fei’nur heard the same report, and started running into the Conference Suite with her own emergency response group. But Artesia was closer, and it was Artesia who left the Conference Suite and hastened up to Nah’dur’s side, reaching her several frames ahead. Her hand flashed with a combat sign warning the Surgeon-Commander as she flickered up in confusion. 

Nah’dur halted the cart. “Clear out!” She ordered her team with a voice that was so emphatic it was difficult to believe. They scattered instantly, not questioning the order as Nah’dur brought up her scanner--and then started in a dead run for Artesia. “_ Go, Go, Go! Flying Officer, move!” _

Artesia felt her veins chill and time slow down as she realised how acutely dangerous this was. _ Not without you, Ma’am. _Her eyes flickered along the corridor and she spied one of the blast reinforced emergency decompression shelters. Lunging with one hand out, she grabbed Nah’dur and diverted the woman’s momentum so that they both went crashing in. 

  
  
  
  
  


Fei’nur and her team had gone pounding through the conference room as Quarians retreated and turned away in confusion, surprise and concern. She reached the Admirals and Zhen’var--both the Quarians and her Captain turning toward her--only seconds later.

Looking around, and realising Nah’dur was gone, a terror flickered through her eyes that Zhen’var had never seen before. It passed without words or other expression. There was no time for anything else. 

The bomb detonated. The powerful mini-fusion device ripped into the hull of the _ Huáscar. _It incinerated the corridor, including the robotic Quarian body controlled by a VI that had contained it, and the crash cart. A wave of plasma swept from the inside out into armour meant to blow out in similar conditions to minimise damage, into armour meant to handle explosions from the outside, not the inside. 

As the armour did its job to make sure that the ship was safe, it also peeled outwards and downwards from the ventral surface of the saucer. A splash of white hot plasma surged through it, venting quickly to space. As the overpressure from the plasma was vented into space, the doors which had been in front of them buckled… And then bent back from the depressurization when they had already failed from the overpressure damage. 

Air erupted out of the Conference Suite, an outrushing explosively through the heavily damaged sector which threatened to drag people off their feet.

Captain Zhen’var felt her shoes starting to slide over the deck as the air whipped around her, and she frantically tried to shift, before an iron bar of an arm slammed around her midsection as Fei’nur bodily yanked her off her feet, holding her close to a surprised yowl from the Captain as the Spectre planted herself, as unphased as if she was rooted to the deck.

Fei’nur leaned away with the Captain locked against her, balancing herself precisely with her arms like iron around Zhen’var. Then, abruptly, as stars were starting to form in Zhen’var’s head from the lost oxygen, the feeling snapped off as a distant, faint sound in thin air boomed, the emergency doors for the conference suite slamming shut. Still being held by Fei’nur, she went to her omnitool, asking for an automated status update. She was a Captain, and her ship had been attacked.

  
  
  


For a moment, there was perfect silence on the bridge as the shudder finished running through the _ Huáscar. _The officers and ratings were looking to Daria. An alarm began to insistently beep on Lieutenant Orallian’s console. He looked to Daria. “Ma’am, the hull has been compromised. We’re losing air through Sector 10-19.” 

“Set Material Condition Zebra throughout the ship,” Daria answered as her hands gripped down on the granite of the Captain’s armrests. 

“Ma’am, we are not at General Quarters, we’ll trap people in their berths when they’re losing air…”

“MC ZEBRA, LIEUTENANT!”

“MC Zebra,” Orallian repeated, the Gersallian sense of social duty winning over respect for life as he activated the control. Alarms began to howl throughout the ship as the emergency bulkheads slammed closed and the doors began to automatically seal. 

Daria flipped her intercom to shipwide signals. “General Quarters, General Quarters. This is the Officer of the Watch, All Hands to General Quarters!” That order cut like a knife while the bulkheads were _ already closing. _It meant that everyone would be stumbling from their bunks and forced to undog and dog hatches in prescribed sequences according to the Damage Control Bill for their sector to reach their GQ post as rapidly as possible. With the ship damaged and with areas in vacuum, that was hell itself. 

_ They’ve got us. The _ Heermann, _ damn, _she thought. “Comms, warn Ray-Ban in code to be alert for hostile action!” They were also the only fighting fit combat unit they had in the area.

“Yes Ma’am!”

It was then that Daria saw the trilling, angry symbol on the command chair display, and selected it. “Captain, Ma’am. _ Huáscar Actual, _ ” she enunciated herself to show that she had positive control of the ship from the bridge as the Officer of the Watch and the _ Huáscar _was not out of control. 

“Understood. One of the Quarians was a bomb in disguise. There likely are more intruders. I shall leave you to the ship. I will see to the Admiralty Board. Zhen’var, out.” Short, sharp, direct, and not questioning Daria’s decisions as the woman on the spot, that was her Captain’s style.

As soon as that connection dropped, however, there was another flaring to life on the display.

“Colonel?” Daria asked. She didn’t know that the two women were standing next to each other, Fei’nur having only just released her iron embrace of Zhen’var to keep her on her feet. 

“Continuing on the Captain’s observation, Commander, the Quarian-shaped bomb in question was brought aboard with _ Admiral Han’Gerrel’s staff.” _

“Thank you, Colonel.” Something was still wrong, as a chill gripped Daria’s heart. “We’re acting on it. Got to go, Ma’am.” she flipped the intercom line over to PriFly. “PriFly Actual? Get every sensor you have and point it at Admiral Han’Gerrel’s shuttle.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


As Zhen’var and Fei’nur turned toward Han’Gerrel in the still thin air of the conference suite, a voice crackled overhead through a dimly functioning and staticy intercom. “This is Lieutenant Hia’zhir, Assistant DCO. I have DCC. I assume all duties and responsibilities for damage control onboard _ Huáscar. _” This declaration to the entire crew was, from a newly transferred aboard junior officer, utterly matter-of-fact and completely calm. 

_ The Union trains them well, still. _ Zhen’var stepped closer to the Quarians assembled, watching the ice crystals from the sudden pressure drop still melting away. “Admirals, we will be evacuating you from _ Huáscar _until such time as the situation is under control!”

“Half my staff is missing,” Han’Gerrel thundered. “How will you find them? What happened to _ Tar’Fenrel _with your Surgeon-Commander?” 

The other Quarian Admirals were already looking to him with none-too-kind looks. 

Fei’nur’s look was _ dangerous _ , and she stepped dangerously close. “ _ Sir _ , either through _ ignorant incompetence _ or _ malice _ you have brought explosive devices, one of whom was in the _ shape of your aide _ aboard this ship. I must assume that your missing staff are hostile agents if they are no longer under your command. You can evacuate voluntarily, or be carried after being stunned. The choice is yours. I suggest you choose quickly.”

“I will go with the others,” he said after a sallow, pregnant pause. 

“This was not an act of Quarians,” Rael’Zorah came as close to snarling as any Quarian they had heard. “You have my word, Captain.”

“I accept it.” Zhen’var was not even grudging. “This is much more the work of Special Tasks or Commandos, I would say, given the intended target.” Her worried look to Fei’nur spoke volumes.

"Possible, even probable. I will be leading my team in before they can cause more destruction. Captain." The colonel finished with a nod of respect to Zhen'var, before turning and jogging off.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Lieutenant Hia’zhir was looking at far more experienced Petty Officers around her who expected her to know how to do this. The holoprojector in the middle of DCC showed the Damage Control Bill and the secondary one was projecting the ship condition status. There was no report from the DCO; she was in charge. Because of the configuration of the ship, the damaged decks were the responsibility of Repair 1 since they traveled continuously through the ship with the ‘neckless’ configuration of the class from fore to aft and integrated with the hangar decks in the engineering hull. Unlike Federation ships the _ Huáscar _was not designed to ever be split in two and that section was her massive armoured keel. 

With the crew trying to struggle their way to stations through closed bulkheads and spacetight doors, damage control was a mess. She put a headset on so she could speak without the chatter behind her. “Repair 2, this is DCC Actual. You are assuming response duties for Repair 1, muster at designated muster point 23-Delta and take leadership over personnel of Repair 1 in the saucer section to begin advancing. We are linking you sensor indications of fire, null-sensor compartments and sensor indications of vacuum now.”

“This is Chief Melkampf, I am ranking in Repair 2 at muster point 23-Delta at this time, Ma’am. I need a report from the bridge so we know which sections have personnel in the survival shelters.” 

“Understood, Chief. You’ll have it by the time you muster your full crew at 23-Delta.” Hia’zhir thought about it and turned to one of her ratings. “Fi’jar, pull that directly from the sensors, don’t bother the bridge with it.”

“I obey!” 

It sounded a little like a Dilgar ship. Hia’zhir reached out and grabbed futilely at her uniform shirt, wishing it had buttons so that there was a hole for her to stuff her hand into to get it out of the way and look dignified. _ Gods, gods, gods, if I screw this up it will reflect badly on the whole Union. _

But she didn’t reveal any of that. “Get me Repair 9,” she directed, looking at the status reports. They shouldn’t have been a problem, but.. The EVA team. “DCC Actual to Chief Dugan, I don’t see any of your people greenlighting at the hangar airlocks, please report.”

“DCC Actual,” Rick’s voice conveyed so much sarcastic confidence in that moment. “We have a problem. You need to pull back Repair 3 through 3c, Propulsion Repair 6 and the Aviation Fuel and Repair Team and Crash and Salvage Team now, Ma’am. There’s going to be a second explosion in the main shuttle hangar and it’s going to be a big one.” 

For a moment, Hia’zhir’s eyes glinted very peculiarly. Then she calmly asked the human Chief: “Do I broadcast on 1MC?” 

“Yeah, do it. We’re not negotiating with these shits, Ma’am.”

“DCC Actual out.” She flipped the channel to the 1MC. “All hands this is DCC Actual. Pull back from Sectors 0 thru 22 Gamma. I repeat pull back from Sectors 0 thru 22 Gamma. Repair Threes, Repair 6, AFR and CST, pull back to Section Xulu, Section Hotel, Section Foxtrot. I repeat pull back to Section Xulu, Hotel, Foxtrot according to position. Dog and secure all Class W hatches on retreat. I repeat, Dog and Secure all Class W hatches on retreat.” 

Then she flipped the intercom again, standing as composed as she could with the crew in DCC working around her. “PriFly Actual this is DCC Actual. I am preparing to kill distribution power to Section Gamma. Please confirm if you need any circuit buses energized.” 

“Bay tractor beam distribution power,” Stasia’s voice answered. Even Hia’zhir could hear the tension across the species boundary. “I’m trying to keep you out of a job in Gamma. Out.” 

  
  
  
  
  


When the rumble went through the ship, PriFly, on the elevated viewing position on the upper-aft-right quadrant of the saucer at the neckless-neck of the ship where it could survey all landing and hangar operations from a traditional offset, hanging from its own pylon with windows in every direction--even some through the floor--was the most heavily shielded and also vulnerable place on the ship. Stasia at any kind of alert had her full crew in suits with helmets ready to don. PriFly had vibrated, and it was a peculiar thing, not like the normal experience of the ship.

Then all Hell had broken loose. Alarms howled through the ship and the space-tight doors began to close. It wasn’t Stasia’s job to worry about internal parts of the ship away from the hangar bays, but she couldn’t help but think about the fair number of friends she had aboard who might be in harm’s way, or already dead. 

She had certainly felt that unfortunate feeling before, on both the _ Aurora _ and the _ Huáscar. _ Stasia could see nothing around in the range of her sensors except for the Quarian fleet, but the Quarian fleet was utterly massive. _ How hard really would it be to slip a ship into this mass with all the foreign vessels? _ This was her job. “Stand by all alert flights,” she ordered into her mic. “Alert Flight, _ Launch on Warning, _” she ordered first, and then to the others in Combined Squadron 2 of Combined Wing (WC) 50: “SC.2, Alert Five.” 

And then only minutes later, Daria’s voice, chill and very precise, overrode her channel. “PriFly Actual? Get every sensor you have and point it at Admiral Han’Gerrel’s shuttle.”

Stasia paused for a moment, and then--she heard the chatter on the intercoms, she knew it was a bomb--wordlessly brought her controls for the bay instrumentation. “Nothing out of the ordinary, Ma’am,” she answered after a moment. “Synching the feed to the bridge…”

Ensign Melkaria, sitting at science, ran the continuous feed from PriFly, and then ran it again. “Chief Héen,” the Dorei said, “there’s a waver in the K-band.”

“Sensor auto-diagnostic… Checks out, Sir. That’s legit, which means…” Stasia trailed off. “That sensor image is false.” 

“Concur,” Melkaria nodded. 

Daria closed her eyes. _ Oh Goddess, it’s big enough to wreck all of the engineering hull if it has a fusion bomb inside of it. _“Get that shuttle off the ship, Chief!” 

“On it, Ma’am.” Stasia swiveled her chair and brought up the holoplots. She grabbed the shuttle in the docking bay and started to move it while she overrode the lockdowns on the shuttle bay doors and opened them in rapid emergency mode and then sounded the evacuation alarms which would have her personnel evacuating the bay proper. “Ma’am,” she said as the shuttle started to move, “I have SC.2 on Alert 5. I have the Alert wing ready to go. I want to launch them.” 

“Wing?” Daria answered, synching Lar’shan into the conversation. 

“The launch tubes may be misaligned,” the Marine Major answered. “I’d like to have…”

“Sir, your pilots will die in their tubes if this thing goes,” Stasia interrupted him.

“Do it, Chief,” he answered. 

“Alert Flight, _ Launch! _” Four Mongeese exploded out of the forward tubes, two simultaneously each time at a two second interval. “SC.2, stand by for emergency launch. Confirm spacetightness and go.” She handed them off to her second, Chief Petty Officer Gerrik, and focused all of her attention on the shuttle. At least if they got the fighters in space they’d have twenty starfighters between them and whatever was gunning for them if they had spaceborne reinforcements, though it seemed impossible if they would in the middle of the Quarian fleet, it might be a hostile faction…

Then a voice spoke, fast, disorganised to a human mind, on the open channel in the base. “_ Huáscar _bay control halt immediately! You will suffer consequences if the body of the Surgeon-Commander is not confirmed! This shuttle is rigged to explode!”

Stasia flicked the mic on. _ Nailed you, you fuckers. _“With you in it?” She brought up the video feed from the bay, and watched as spacesuited and armoured figures began to spill out of the shuttle as it moved, using thrust packs and gravity boots to secure themselves as Stasia killed the bay gravity instantly to make it as hard as possible for them to escape. 

It was a race. The team inside the shuttle had been waiting for someone else to do the termination job, the confirmation job. The shuttle bomb was probably a backup option--one they were using because the crew of the Huáscar had quickly caught up to what they were doing and in consequence to it had started to eject their shuttle into space. Otherwise it was there to secure their escape, which they’d have to arrange some other way now. 

But it meant that Stasia had a window to actually complete her mission. The team inside the shuttle had to get out of the bay before they could set the bomb off. Stasia’s hands flew across the controls as she worked the bay tractor beam controls and accelerated the shuttle toward the open bay doors. “_ Huáscar _Actual, power down the warp drives and begin to evacuate the engineering spaces!” 

Daria confirmed it at once. “Engineering, power down the warp drives and pull back from the bay and the aft actions! Marines, pull back from Sector Foxtrot to Hotel!” 

The team from the shuttle were cutting through closed bulkhead doors to escape from the shuttle bay. They used energy field disruptors to take down the shields trying to prevent them from doing it, and then in a flash and a spurt of air, they were through, using their own portable shield to seal the airlock behind them as the rest of the team went charging in. Stasia snapped one of her spare tractor beams on repulsion and aimed it at that section of the deck and the rearguard of the team went flying into bulkheads and across the metal decking. _ That’ll slow ya. _

The shuttle was now at the cusp of the doors as the rearguard of the team recovered and hastened on to the airlock they had blasted through and reestablished. Stasia tensed and bit her lip. “Our shields should hold but hang on,” she called out as the shuttle cleared the bay and then she barked “Bay doors closed, now!” 

One of her subordinates as on it and she stayed on the tractors, bringing the primary docking approach tractors up to full power and snapping them on to full repulsion. As she did, a massive flash rent the dark of space right aft of the _ Huáscar _and the blast washed over the engineering hull and the upper nacelles. The bay doors, partially jammed, showed through her scanners a howling flare of plasma and radiation bake their way into the shuttle bay, crumpling scanner-heads and searing paint lines off the deck. The camera went to static for a moment before the image from further back in the hangar returned. It had been below the threshold to destroy small craft in the hangar, which meant the damage wasn’t serious, though the main hangar doors were jammed open and buckled with a visible bent angle. 

Stasia let her breath out slowly and sank back into the plush fake leather of her control chair. She pushed the equipment away. “Did SC.2 get airborne before it went off?” She asked quietly. 

“We got ‘em out, Chief.”

“Thank God.” She pulled one of the flexible arm mounted interfaces back over and selected the bridge. “_ Huáscar _Actual, this is PriFly Actual. Threat is neutralized. Main bay is out of action, doors are jammed and deranged. Internal subsystem damage… Based on our vantage point, I would check the warp drives before charging them.” 

“Good work, Chief,” Daria answered. “DCC Actual, this Huáscar Actual. I want EVA teams checking the integrity of the drives.” On the bridge, the tension didn’t change. They had dealt with another threat, but they were isolated, disabled, fighting their wounded ship, and not sure if they were in the midst of friendlies or hostiles. 

  
  
  
  
  


The familiar image of Fei’nur was a sight to rally and steady most of the security and marine personnel now still gathered in the Conference Suite. “Double-check suit integrity, we are going in! We have hostiles in the ship and casualties to extract. Team leaders, sound off readiness!”

A chorus of “Squad ready” as they checked their suits--using the ready reserves positioned in the Conference Suite to secure into them and activating personal shields to protect them with--answered back to her. Only the Marines had full armoured pressure suits as opposed to standard emergency suits with shields to protect them, though, and that was only because the armour was integral to a pressure suit when the helmet attachments were snapped on, precisely to allow a quick conversion to vacuum operations. 

“Colonel Fei’nur,” Major Richards’ Nawlins voice cut in to the channel as another shudder ran through the ship--which made many of Fei’nur’s troops exchange glances. Another shudder was Not Good. “We have what is tentatively an STG team coming up from the main shuttle bay through the engineering hull. They briefly negotiated with Chief Héen and they threatened to detonate a much larger bomb--it’s just been neutralized, the ship took more damage but not bad--if we didn’t allow them to confirm the Surgeon-Commander’s… Neutralization.”

“Major Richards, you have command of the effort to delay and contain the enemy advancing into the ship. I will take command of the response team. We will meet them head-on in the damaged areas. Marines will take point!”

“Understood, Colonel. We’ll stop them. Colonel, I have some good news. Internal security sensors can confirm that there are four indeterminate life signs in the vacuum area--seem like they’re still reading as Quarian. But there’s also at least fourteen life signs in the broader area in the survival shelters. The indeterminate life-signs are working their way back around to the area of the survival shelters, Colonel.”

“They are seeking to finish off the Surgeon-Commander.” Her voice was utterly flat. “Thank you, Major. We are going in.”

Lieutenant Callahan finished forming up the troops as Fei’nur finished her conversation. “We’re ready, Colonel,” he said simply. “We’ll need to find a suitable set of bulkheads to make our own airlock.”

“Follow me, Lieutenant. We do not have much time, we will depressurize another corridor if we must. _ Expedite _.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


There were times when a Captain simply had to trust her crew. For Zhen’var, with her background and circumstances, that was the psychological challenge she was faced with right then and there. She had to get the Quarians to their only means of evacuation, since they wouldn’t use transports--her Captain’s Yacht at the centre-ventral point of the saucer section. 

“Admirals, follow me, please. You will be evacuated via small craft and returned to your ship with the utmost alacrity.” Mentally, she was wincing at the need to get through the spinal area of the ship under ZEBRA, already tapping her omnitool to come up with the DC overrides she would have to work before and behind the evacuation party, as well as the map of the doglegs that would have to be traversed to avoid setting off the master alarms.

Arterus arrived with the rest of the staff from the other part of the suite. “I can take the Yacht to return them to their ships, Captain,” he said smoothly as he arrived, looking at the door on the far end of the conference suite from the detonation and the steel wheel they’d have to spin. 

“You are the Captain and this is your ship,” Daro’Xen’s eyes glowed sharply. “We will make sure that the Fleet supports you the moment that we can communicate with our forces. Do we know who caused this, Captain?” 

“Our working assumption is the Special Tasks Group, but confirmation shall wait for forensics, Admiral. Lieutenant, your offer is accepted. Let us begin at once. This will not be a simple transit through the corridors.” She gestured for Arterus, to assist her in un-dogging the first of a great many hatches they would have to move through.

The strength of a Rihannsu man was considerable, and he put his back into it, and they moved into the first corridor. They were evacuating something like sixty people in all including the food service staff. But as they passed through, the Quarians turned back to the hatch. They knew what to do, they were a spacefaring people and had been for centuries. They quickly moved to secure it of their own volition--they would keep things moving. As soon as the telltales flashed green, Zhen’var bent her own strength to the next hatch, checking her omnitool at each compartment to guide the group onwards.

Shala’Raan leaned in with her. Despite their fragility in their suits, Quarians were actually incredibly strong. They were starting to catch up, of course, the group would never be as fast as a damage control crew, but it was something. “You must wish to get to a control station as soon as you can, Captain.” 

“My crew has the situation in hand, Admiral. They would not hold the positions they did if I did not have confidence in their initiative. The mission puts your safety as a higher priority than effort to get myself to a command position, and they know it.” She glanced up after she’d finished the little speech.

“Then let us get ourselves out of your feathers, Captain.” She cheerfully went to another spacetight door. The natural sociality and helpfulness of Quarians extended, for the most part, to their admirals. Behind them, though, Rael’Zorah quietly fumed; Han’Gerrel’s incompetence with his own security arrangements all but guaranteed the Return faction’s defeat.

  
  
  
  


The survival shelters placed throughout the ship were fitted with large numbers of adjustable fit spacesuits and emergency response equipment. They were meant to shelter a small number of crew as they suited up, and they were everywhere, stationed at regular, convenient intervals down corridors and with increasing density in high traffic areas where there would be more people. 

Artesia’s lunge had carried her into direct contact with Nah’dur and then toppled the Dilgar into the survival shelter. And now the two of them were trapped in it, the display readout inside, powered by a battery, clearly showing the vacuum beyond. 

Artesia sat on the floor, looking up at the uneasily standing Nah’dur. Nah’dur was looking back at her. 

“You know,” Nah’dur said emphatically. “Will you tell anyone?” Her surface thoughts on the hour of death had flung back to her mother. 

Artesia knew. She shook her head. “How could Artesia Som Deikun condemn a woman for the circumstances of her birth, Surgeon-Commander?” 

“Hypocrisy is the universal constant,” Nah’dur flipped back and then shrugged. “We don’t need to talk more about it. Help me with the plasma welder, please.”

“Sure, Surgeon-Commander. Why?” Artesia asked as she rose and helped Nah’dur lever the instrument down, and immediately pop out the control panel.

“I am hot-wiring it to remove the safeties. That will give us enough range to make it a useful weapon.” She looked up. “We are not out of danger yet, Leftenant. They will be coming for me.”


	4. Episode 8 Act 4

#  Act Four

  
  
  


They were running silent and under cloak as they left the Migrant Fleet behind. Ca’elia had the bridge, and everything was normal as the  _ Heermann  _ carried on. It was a good opportunity to stand the watch, after they had stood out from the dense traffic of the Migrant Fleet.

The command chair was far less comfortable than it looked, the young Dilgar lieutenant thought, perched on the edge of it as she looked across the crew at their stations. Not a great many Captains would have given as young an officer as her the watch without staying on the bridge themselves, she  _ thought _ . 

Then the message indicator chimed for PO Ghisi at comms and the Alakin turned to her. “Ma’am, priority comms from the  _ Huáscar,  _ under code. It’s an alert signal for hostile action.”

Without hesitation, she flipped up the cover on her armrest that sounded the battle stations klaxon. “Sensor sweep out to maximum range, call out any unexpected contacts.” She was already un-fastening the lap restraint she kept on per regulation. The chair would not be hers much longer, Ca’elia strongly suspected.

About fifteen seconds later, Abebech appeared, throwing a jacket over what seemed like a mix of uniform and nightclothes which managed to be reasonably dignified enough for an extended action. “Report, Leftenant.” It was not a question. 

Ca’elia rose from the command chair, automatically moving to helm. “Priority signal from  _ Huáscar, _ coded alert signal for hostile action. I have ordered a full sensor sweep and called the crew to stations, Captain.”

“I have the bridge,” Abebech confirmed, indicating that Ca’elia’s decisionmaking had been correct as she moved to sit, and then activated the intercom. “All hands, this is the Captain speaking. Assume Material Condition Zebra throughout the ship!” 

It was with a feeling of relief that Ca’elia settled back at the helm, tapping the configuration back to  _ her _ preferred settings, with the repeater displays and sensitivity dialed up moderately above baseline.

Goodenough arrived a minute later and took up position at his own panel. “A warning from the  _ Huáscar,  _ Captain?” 

“Yes,” Abebech answered. “What’s the chatter in the Migrant fleet?” 

Goodenough turned toward the comm channels, and a moment later his face twisted into a sharp grimace. “Nothing good, Captain.” 

“Splitscreen,” Abebech directed, and a moment later she frowned and reached for the coffee that Mehmet had dropped off as he moved to his own station. She still had time for a flashed smile of thanks.

The splitscreen showed Migrant Fleet rebroadcast footage from many angles of a fusion explosion ripping from the inside out, scattering hull armour plates, on the lower port ventral side of the  _ Huáscar _ ’s side. “Near the conference suites,” Abebech said simply. “A terrorist attack on the talks.” 

“ _ Huáscar _ is still under control, Captain.” Ca’elia called out from the helm. Focusing on  _ that  _ made it easier to ignore that the massive explorer that was their host ship was wounded and under attack from within.

“Yes, she would be… We have a sincerely good ship, Leftenant,” Abebech answered, pausing for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen it before, I’ll see it again. The crew on the bridge rallies, Damage Control Central takes over the fight, the ratings struggling into position through undogging and dogging hatches, the work is done.... No matter how bad the initial blow, the ship fights on. Good morale, good training,  _ esprit d’corps. _ Now let’s see what’s around us. Goodenough?” 

“We have our rendezvous ahead, Captain,” the former Royal Navy Gunner answered. 

“Vector is set, Captain. Moving us closer.” The Dilgar helmswoman called out. “Are we clear?”

Mehmet bent over the tactical display. “I… No. Captain, six small vessels, no IFFs, bearing one-four-two mark six.”

“On screen, full magnification.”

It took only a moment before Abebech nodded sharply in the wake of her own words. “Hirelings. They’re coming for our rendezvous.” A pause. “We are in a combat zone, the  _ Huáscar  _ has been attacked, we must assume these events are linked. Come about, one-eight-six mark two. We will plot an intercept course, helm.”

Tapping at keys, it was barely a second before Ca’elia called out; “One-eight-six mark two, aye aye, Captain. Intercept course... “ A few seconds later came the confident. “Plotted, ma’am!”

“...Countermand. We must be mindful of the rules of engagement,” Abebech corrected herself quickly. “Proceed to our contact, at  _ best possible speed,  _ and take up a position behind her. Goodenough, stand by to deploy a communication probe on my mark.”

The helmswoman’s hands flew over her console, lining up the short burst of warp drive that would deposit them directly behind the contact. “Proceeding at best possible speed, aye aye, Captain! Warp coils charged...”

“Engage,” Abebech ordered sharply, and then activated the intercom. “All hands, all hands. This is not a drill. We expect imminent hostile action.” 

The whine of the engines, throwing them forward in the sudden elongation and a flash, shifted abruptly as Ca’elia swung them about sharply to bring the fore weapons to bear as soon as they slowed back to sublight speeds.

“Deploy the comms buoy and mask us behind our contact,” Abebech ordered, first to Goodenough and then to Ca’elia. Then she looked to Mehmet: “Stand by to transfer power to weapons.”

“Comms buoy out,” Goodenough reported, watching the display as the  _ Heermann  _ interposed their contact between them and the approaching enemy. 

“Mask us behind the contact, aye aye…” The engines flared to life at lower power, swinging them into position.

“Goodenough, synch the communications probe…”

“Done, Captain.”

Abebech stabbed a button on her armrest. “Unidentified flotilla, this is the Alliance Starship  _ Heermann.  _ The contact you are on an intercept course with is under our protection. You will stand down and withdraw or we will be forced to take appropriate measures to defend them.” She hit mute on the feed. “Helm, fastest possible manoeuvre to clear us to firing position. Stand by.”

There was beeping from the helm console before Ca’elia called out; “Maneuver to firing position laid in, Captain!”

“Alliance starship, we are here on Council business,” a voice snarled back a moment later. “Stand down or we will engage.” 

Abebech reactivated the channel. “No.”

The laconic response did not receive an immediate reply. Abebech watched sharply as the squadron, lined up and in position, opened fire… On the position of the communications probe.

“I believe that demonstrates hostile intent against an Alliance warship.” Abebech sent a final tight beam to the comms probe that they hadn’t hit yet: “If you fire on our contact, you  _ will be fired upon. _ ” Then she killed the channel. They finally hit the probe a few seconds later. “Stand ready.”

“Bringing us about to firing position!” came the call from her helmswoman, reading  _ intent _ in what Abebech had said and acting immediately upon it.

When the comms probe exploded, the attacking mercenaries knew they were being played. Whether or not they understood precisely what the true level of stealth technology the  _ Heermann  _ had was, or if they thought it was a feint from the damaged  _ Huáscar,  _ Abebech didn’t know or care. 

“Tactical, target the second ship,” Abebech directed, noting their angle.

“Second ship in line targeted, Captain,” Mehmet confirmed. “Captain… They are firing.” 

Abebech watched the first railgun rounds lash out. The Krogan mercenary frigate began violent evasives, still not sure where help was. Abebech was about to provide them with an answer. 

“Transfer power to weapons!” 

“Transferring power to weapons!” Veeringen’s voice from engineering echoed over the comm.

“Tactical, fire torpedoes!” 

The forward torpedo tubes erupted with the ready stock salvoing as the power surged and flared sufficiently to accelerate them down the tubes as the  _ Heermann  _ rippled into view. The first torpedoes roared down  _ en echelon  _ to the target and detonated. 

“Cannon, same target.” 

As the second authorisation was given, the pulse cannon fired as well, and following in on the solar torpedoes which had brought the shields of the light mercenary attack ship down… The corvette was blown right to hell in a guttering explosion, followed by implosion of the Eezo core, as the bursts of fire tore deep into an unprotected and already damaged hull. Abebech allowed a very small smile. “Helm, evasive.” 

The young Dilgar at the helm swung  _ Heermann _ into a sharp, twisting ‘dive’ relative to the ship she had just destroyed without hesitation, steering them violently away from the firing arcs of the mercenary ships.

“They’re ignoring us, Captain, and coming about on our contact,” Goodenough reported crisply. “They’ve got their eye on the prize.” 

“And what a prize it is,” Abebech muttered tautly. “The rendezvous is blown. No need to fight five to one. Helm, Science, get us between the enemy and our friend and link our FTL sensors to the contact ship. That should give them enough precision to do an FTL jump directly into the middle of the Quarian fleet. Science, alert the Quarians that a friendly will be coming in  _ danger close. _ Any ship violating assigned vectors is at a risk for collision. Now helm, buy enough time for them to get out, please.” 

“Understood, Captain, interposing and buying time for the friendly vessel!”  _ Now just to not let us be hit too hard ourselves! _ Ca’elia’s nerves tingled as she swung  _ Heermann _ hard over at full thrust.

She was rewarded with the objective, as the  _ Heermann  _ snapped sharply and buffeted under the impact of the massed weapons fire. 

“Shields holding, Captain,” Abel reported over the intercom. 

Abebech looked at the screen. “Tactical plot. Science, update?” 

“Working on synching to their drive coordinates data-system,” Goodenough gritted his teeth. “It’s not easy.” 

“Captain, they’re firming up their firing solutions, continuing to evade as long as possible.” Ca’elia called out, rolling up and over on their beam ends before spinning into a ‘dive’ relative to the mercenary fleet. 

Mehmet salvoed the forward pulse cannon as he got a chip shot. So far they had not held a perfect firing solution for him to reprise his success against the first ship, but he had kept firing to keep their tails off of the  _ Heermann  _ as much as possible, anyway. 

“Now would be a nice time, Goodenough…” She looked down at her gloves and then curled a lip. “Helm, turn into them. Weapons, stand by forward batteries…” 

“Bringing weapons to bear, Captain, aye aye.” came the quick reply from her helmswoman, as the  _ Heermann _ came about.

Mehmet needed no orders. As the batteries roared in the deckplates and the torpedoes salvoed, the enemy flushed into their own evasive manoeuvres. The first encounter had taught them respect for the firepower of the Attacker. 

As they did, Goodenough let out a cry of triumph. “They’re well and away, Captain… And we’ve confirmed their arrival inside the fleet,” he added a moment later, as the instant of hyperlight travel ended. 

“Evasive, get us out of here, helm,” Abebech squeezed her armrest and gave a sharp nod. “Good work, Commander.” 

Freed of the need to shield the ship they had come to meet, Ca’elia gyrated the ship around another burst of weapons fire before slamming the throttles to the stops.

Abebech grinned. “Good work, everyone. They’re welcome to follow us into the middle of the Migrant Fleet if they really want to. Somehow I don’t think they’ll be that entertaining.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Fei’nur  _ hated _ working in vacuum. Adding zero-g to it just compounded the problem. Even a Spectre’s counterpressure suit restricted mobility, and the lack of sound reduced her to barely better acuity than another soldier. She had gravity boots, of course, as did the rest of her team. That still left their pace plodding. 

Corporal Ti’fiit was on point with her, and Sergeant Divya, a short Indic woman, carried the rear of the main body, two security officers out on each flank and a central group with plasma cutters and bomb-defusing gear numbering six in total. Conditions were eerie. 

The reality of depressurisation was that as vacuum reduced pressure and the loss of heat reduced temperature, air could hold less and less moisture. But the water has to  _ go  _ somewhere, and so first it turns into a fog, and then it freezes. As it freezes it condenses out of the air, and so there was a thin film of ice on all the once-alive corridors, rendering the dark scene viewed through goggles an unnatural air. 

The inability to advance quickly left them slowly leapfrogging each other from cover to cover, on-edge for the slightest hint of movement or contact, with hand signals passed between the group. Any transmission would alert their enemies, before contact was made.

The good thing was the  _ lack of bodies.  _ They advanced close to the explosion, and even there didn’t see any, though in the corridors that were blasted and twisted with fusion power scouring the tritanium and trinium, it would have been harder for mortal remains to still exist. Still, the passive sensors showed, comfortingly, many life-signs in the survival shelters. The warnings of Elia and Artesia had mattered. 

If they could not fix and finish the team which had  _ caused _ the damage in the first place, however, getting those survivors out would not be possible; with that thought in mind, Fei’nur moved forward again, always taking point with the thinking her enhanced vision stood her the best chance of avoiding an ambush that would wipe out half her team in a split second.

Now they moved into a more wrecked area. There were gaping holes in the floor of the corridor, which was only supported in places by the main frame of the ship. They were almost there, working their way around in a big semi-circle back to where the blast had taken place, and the survival shelters nearest to it. The place, in short, that she would find Nah’dur.

They had to deactivate their gravity boots now and move on floating over the twisted gaps in the corridor plating, looking down to other shattered corridors below. They had to be very close, and that was a vulnerability, but an agnostic one. Their enemies would have to float across the gap, too. 

With a flurry of gestures, Fei’nur slowed her team’s advance, hyper-alert for imminent contact. Adrenaline and a cocktail of synthetic chemicals coursed through her blood. The action that loomed before them promised to be  _ short _ .

Ahead, she could see a dim flicker of a moving light. There was someone using a  _ torch.  _

  
  
  
  
  


Arterus had gotten the Quarians clear in the Captain’s Yacht, upchecking it in record time. A group of crewers in the area had filled out two more crew slots aboard who had the right qualifications but weren’t part of the Damage Control Muster for that sector, and Chief Sherrod had insisted on going to make sure there was someone along on the trip for hospitality purposes as Arterus made his way to each of the Admirals’ flagships. 

That left Zhen’var to make her way up-ship, with the bridge located directly above her, now. Climbing through the vertical access hatches was a chore above all others. 

“Captain, this is Commander Atreiad. I am at secondary control. Do you want me to take over from the bridge?” 

“I do not think that necessary as yet, Commander.” Zhen’var paused after opening one of the between-deck hatches. “I believe they have the situation well in hand, and I am heading for the bridge now. Continue to monitor, and use your judgement as to a need to take the conn if the situation worsens before I reach the bridge.”

“Understood, Captain.” A pause. “Marines have the STG team pinned down in Foxtrot Sector, F-22 at the moment. They’re still trying to work their way around for the saucer section.” 

“I have full confidence in our Marines, alert the Colonel if the team successfully breaks for her position, she has enough of immediate concern last I saw her.”

“Understood, Sir. No confirmed fatalities at this time,” Will added, trying to give Zhen’var some good news. 

“Thank you, Commander.” She was already climbing again, trying to gain her destination as quickly as possible, where  _ Huáscar’s _ Captain  _ belonged _ in a crisis.

Each ladder and each hatch pushed her to the limit, even with Fei’nur’s efforts to make her fit, she was still a woman about a year out from an utterly massive surgery, when her body was still healing and she was still under Nah’dur’s medical care. Fei’nur’s physical fitness had honed muscles meant for an ambush predator, but the grueling climb was a challenge as complete as any that Fei’nur had come up with for her. 

She was very proud of the fact that she was not  _ wheezing _ when, with muscles aching and wobbly on her feet, she spun the last unlocking wheel and staggered up and onto the bridge deck. The wheel spun and automatically dogged behind her as she slammed it down, and then she was stepping onto the bridge.

“Captain on the bridge! Maintain stations!” Daria ordered as she rose and came to attention. Even across species, Zhen’var could clearly see the relief that flooded her that the Captain had finally reached her position. 

“Very well done, Leftenant Seldayiv. Situation report.” She reflexively gave a quick salute in response to her subordinate’s gesture of respect. Still breathing hard, in a now rumpled dress uniform, there was a momentary flash of almost-triumph at having made it as far as she did.

Daria remained at attention as she gave the report. “We have Repair 9 out conducting inspections of dorsal drive alignment now, Captain. Repair 3 is working to cut off the deranged bay doors so we can resume flight ops with bay air shields only and recover our fighters. We have twenty fighters on CAP. The  _ Heermann  _ and her rendezvous are both within the Quarian fleet defensive perimeter. Full combat power, full shields, and speeds up to Warp 8 at your discretion. Repair 1 and Repair 2 have completed 85% of the spacetightness inspection for the ventilated perimeter. Estimate another twenty minutes before they can begin moving in for sector-by-sector repairs to restore hull integrity. We have an STG team of twelve life-signs, confirmed Salarians, pinned down in Foxtrot-22. Two down, ten still fighting. Two full Marine companies deployed to contain them. Six lifesigns still showing as Quarian in the area where Colonel Fei’nur and her twelve-person squad are operating. 114 life-signs in survival shelters in the ventilated sectors. Ma’am.”

With a single nod, Zhen’var let out a breath she did not know she had been holding. “Thank you.” She gave a nod of approval to her subordinate, before pitching her voice for the rest of the bridge. “Captain has the conn.”

“Captain has the conn!” Daria acknowledged, and turned to step away and assume the tactical board. The relief radiated from her. 

The older Dilgar woman’s relief at being able to sink into her command chair was carefully concealed, though her legs thanked her. “Now, everyone, what can we do to assist our security and Marines…?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Having made the signal for the team to settle down, to avoid vibrations or anything else that might be detected on the passive sensors of an STG team, Fei’nur gave a signal to Corporal Ti’fiit. The other Dilgar reached out and gave Fei’nur a gentle push.

Now, with no vibrations to provide warning, slowly but surely, Fei’nur was drifting into firing position for the STG team. Of course, to be able to evade their return fire, she would have to activate her gravity boots to  _ move,  _ but for the moment, the tense seconds wore down… As she drifted through a zero-g vacuum. 

Experience and cybernetic enhancement allowed her to precisely calculate the moment that she would open fire, floating closer. As soon as she fired, they would react, but the longer she floated, the greater the chance they would notice her…  _ And…  _ ** _now!_ **

Cybernetically enhanced muscles and senses created by Jha’dur Deathwalker were pitted against the finest Salarian commandos alive. The charge rifle fired at the same moment that Fei’nur activated her gravity boots. The Salarians, clustered around the door to a shelter, watched as the member of their team wielding the plasma cutter went flying as his gravity boots were wrenched off the deck by the shock and a puff of air turned to frost and dissipated as the armoured spacesuit was punched through at the highest setting--she’d only have a few shots--and vented to vacuum. 

Fei’nur recoiled backwards, but then she activated her gravity boots. The Salarians responded instantly, and to their credit, their speed was excellent. Three of the remaining five had clear arcs and they fired in lethal unison. If she had kept recoiling in zero-g without activating the boots, they’d have been right on target. 

Instead, the Dilgar slammed down into the deck and the shots went wide behind her. She already was aimed at a second Salarian, now one of those gunning for  _ her,  _ and fired instantly. Another snap of light and sizzling gut-wound obscured by frost erupted from her second target. By the time it had, she had already activated her stealth suit, and lunged as fire converged, again from three Salarians as those few heartbeats were enough for another one to get into position; but she was already kicking her grav boots off and moving.

The old commando recognized she was in a desperate fight for her life. She quietly gave thanks that Commander  _ Poniatowska  _ had been able to help her finally complete the war-era prototype of a stealth suit for vacuum use. Without it, she would have been not long for the living, as she kicked hard off a projecting shard of metal to change her vector slightly.

Their target disappearing gave the Salarians pause, and then the rest of Fei’nur’s squad came in, hard. As they did, the Salarians reacted to the targets they could see, and that gave Fei’nur free space without covering fire against her in which to prove she was still there. 

She leveled her rifle and fired. Another Salarian was slammed into by a burst of rounds in the midsection, neat and ruthless. Her squad was firing with her now, covering her and attacking the STG team themselves. A fusillade tore across the vacuum and missing shots gouged into carbonized, ruined metal fragments. 

She fired off another two shots from her rifle, before discarding it while dodging to the side, pistol slipping from her holster as her knife went into her other hand. Spectres were at their most dangerous close in, where there was no report of a weapon to give their position away.

_ “Hold fire!”  _ Fei’nur snapped, and suddenly the fire vanished. Another of the Salarians was already down from the fire of her squad and then she was in the others, the knife slipping into the joint of the force and slicing up, the specially designed vibro-weapon, procured on Solaris, ripping through the reinforced joint material of the Salarian spacesuit and venting it to vacuum. 

Then the final Salarian was slammed into the wall by a burst of pulse fire that kept on hammering until the spasms of the amphibian came to an end in the gouts of freezing moisture and dissipating air. Corporal Ti’fiit raised her gun. “I obeyed what you  _ meant  _ like the Captain taught us too, Battlemaster,” she said sheepishly. Once Fei’nur had given away her position by killing the first, her firing arc was clear, so she’d used her initiative to kill the second rather than stay under their fire. 

“No,  _ Sergeant _ Ti’fiit, that was  _ exactly _ what the Warmaster wants from her people.” Fei’nur’s voice was relieved, and rather  _ prideful _ too.

“Thank you, Battlemaster!” The Dilgar marine swelled with pride as she floated closer to the scorched hatch on the survival shelter. “How do we get them out?” 

“There should be suits in the shelters, they’re where the emergency ones are stored. We just need to let them know it is safe to un-do the interlocks. Pass me my rifle. Nah’dur should remember the tap-code.”

“Colonel,” Sergeant Divya came on the line, pointing to one of the floating bodies. “Those aren’t Salarians. The one Ti’fiit shot. It’s partially melted toward a pseudo-amphibian form,” she gestured, using her suit omnitool as a tricorder. “The suit on that one is ventilated. It’s a  _ chameloid,  _ a shapeshifter, Ma’am.”

“Get samples, put them in stasis if they have some method of destroying the evidence.  _ What _ they are matters somewhat less. “Fei’nur to Richards. At least some of the enemy appears to be able to shapeshift.”

“Well, just what I wanted to hear. Colonel, we’ve got our own problems, they’ve split in two, the larger group is covering a smaller one that is working around us. Very heavy fighting in the corridors. It’s two hundred and sixty to twelve and the larger group seems hell-bent on sacrificing itself to let a team of three through.”

“I am moving to intercept, Major. We’re having some problems getting the shelters open.” She killed her transmitter, and leaned in to go helmet-to-helmet with her newly minted sergeant, letting the vibrations transmit her message. “Get the Commander and the Lieutenant  _ out _ of this sector,  _ no comms _ unless attacked!”

“Understood,” Ti’fiit confirmed. “I think Sergeant Divya almost has the code finished…”

Barely had she said that when the Indic woman finished punching through, and the door hissed open, the dry air rushing out, and revealing two space-suited figures, one of whom was holding a plasma cutter with the side opened up, in position to be used as a weapon.

Fei’nur’s expression of raw relief cascaded across her face, visible through the faceplate of her helmet. In Dilgar tactical sign, she gave her orders to the two figures in the shelter;  _ Follow her, retreat. Hostiles approaching.  _ The bodies scattered about punctuated the point.

The figure with the plasma cutter lowered it and seemed tensed and ready to rush into a pouncing embrace, when the Dilgar tactical sign triggered something fundamental drilled into her since she had been a little kit. She raised her off-hand and acknowledged it, and fell in with Ti’fiit. 

Artesia spared a look behind her, and then flashed a thumb’s-up to Fei’nur and followed Nah’dur out of the shelter. 

Fei’nur gestured for the remainder of the team to follow her; she had Richard’s transmissions to populate her tactical map, and that would do, to get her and her support into what would hopefully be an ambush position.

No notification of their recovery was sent. Zhen’var would be worried about her sister, but Fei’nur knew she’d stay calm about it, and Fei’nur knew, too, that she had no interest in making this easy on her enemies. 

  
  
  
  


As Fei’nur proceeded forward through the ventilated compartments, working around the site of the bomb blast and now moving further aft, she knew that what followed would be an exceptionally lethal encounter. The STG team would be the very best the Salarians could send against her, and they had already risked an enormous effort, assets, prestige, and reputation, to try and stop Nah’dur.

But Fei’nur also knew that she was standing between a living, breathing Nah’dur and the Salarians, and that gave her all the motivation in the Cosmos that she needed. 

Then a voice split the ship’s open tactical channels, showing they had been hacked and reassuring Fei’nur that her decision to not report Nah’dur’s rescue had been the correct one. 

“ _ Huáscar _ Commander,” the Salarian voice said matter-of-factly, “our mercenaries placed six bombs in the Quarian quarters aboard your vessel. We are within range to remote detonate them, and we are interested in the safety of our people, at the cost of life if necessary. If you do not hand over Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur and allow us to wipe the databases aboard the ship and confirm the destruction of her notes, we will detonate the bombs.” 

“The Alliance does not negotiate with terrorists as a matter of policy, sir, nor do  _ I  _ negotiate with those who would have every interest in detonating those bombs to guarantee their escape.” Zhen’var replied, demi-claws scraping along her armrests. “Chief Bor’erj, get me a secure link with Engineering, Security and Marine commanders,  _ now _ .”

“They hacked it with a direct tap, Ma’am,” Bor’erj answered, and accessed the informations systems nodes and hacking protocols. “We can physically isolate that part of the internal comms system. Doing so now.”

“Let me know as soon as you have the links securely established.” She folded her hands before her, waiting to hear if there would be anything further from their unwelcome guests.


	5. Act 5

#  Act Five  
  


There were only six Salarians of the nine still fighting by the time that they made their rush. They came on fast and hard down the corridors, and to be sure, they were brave and whippet fast. For a Salarian, life was short, and it was lived fast, and they owned it with their short, sharp existences. The Special Tactics Groups were the utmost expression of that part of Salarian nature. 

Sarah Travis, code-name “Tractor”, had her company as the last-ditch blocking detachment. When the rest of the Salarians had worked past the neighboring company, there was nothing to be done for it by her people, but they now surrounded the rest of the main squad on three sides. 

Wedged into the corridors were heavy automatic pulse cannon. They were protected by detachable blast panels which had been slid into place and by partially closed spacetight doors across the corridors, which had been set to a partial position and then the controls locked down to prevent a hacker from slamming them on barrels. 

The Salarians came on, using mini-missiles to hammer them, and banks of personal shield generators were quickly improvised by the Marines to hold them back. Fire tore over the heads of the Salarians and they kept pushing forward. 

“Surrender!” Sarah called out, with her voice artificially enhanced in her suit. 

“Not an option, the mission before life!” Echoed back a Salarian voice. “Absolutely essential.”

“We have you pinned down!” 

The Salarians responded by leaping forward again, they lost one of their number to the stuttering pulse fire, but as the remaining five pressed on, they got through the intersecting corridor. Now they were packed into one length of twenty metres, facing only a single gun with the others masked. 

Sarah grimaced. They were working to set mines to block them from being surrounded from behind, worming their way from rib to rib along the side of the corridors. A micro-drone pushed forward from the blocking position clearly showed it. The howling of the fire continued unceasingly from both sides. 

  
  
  


“Guillotines confirmed, section isolated. Open comms with Engineering, Marines, Security,” Bor’erj cleared a moment later. That at least gave Zhen’var a chance to coordinate her response, and she knew she didn’t have much time before the Salarians took the negative response as a justification to possibly detonate the devices. 

“Captain, if those bombs are as powerful as the one they already detonated, we could have secondaries from the saucer impulse reactor rooms,” Anna’s voice immediately came on ominously. “The ship would be heavily damaged enough to be in a fight for her life. There might be enough shock damage to allow fires to progress in the sectors which haven’t lost atmosphere.” 

“I want you to coordinate with Major Richards to either neutralize or mitigate the threat, Commander, with  _ utmost  _ expeditiousness, Commander.”

“I’m going to need to get my designated bomb disposal personnel in there in spacesuits, Captain, Major. We’ll get them suited up and then do an internal transport. We’ve got a muster point with gear near main engineering,” Anna answered after a moment. 

“Major, coordinate with her and get those teams  _ moving _ , I do not know how much time we have before they lose their patience and detonate.”

“Understood, Sir,” Major Richards answered, and there was a pause for a moment. “Colonel Fei’nur, shouldn’t we consider baiting them along…?” She dared to ask.

“You may choose to do so, Major, Captain.” Fei’nur’s voice was level, cold, and clipped. “I am going after the Salarians.”

“I’ve got my teams suiting up now,” Anna reported, her voice reflecting the stress of that moment. The decision on whether or not to use Nah’dur that way was ultimately up to Zhen’var. 

“They are desperate enough that I cannot countenance the risk, Major. I will not use one of  _ my crew _ as bait for terrorists,  _ no matter _ the circumstances. The question was worth asking, but the answer is ‘no’.” The Dilgar captain was very careful to keep any condemnation out of her voice as she replied.

“Understood,” Janice answered, looking tensely at the clock. “What do you think they would do if we told them that the Surgeon-Commander had been beamed off?” 

“I do not know, but I doubt they shall take it well. Still, it may buy some time.  _ May _ . I can make the attempt.”

“Understood, Captain,” Major Richards affirmed.

“I have teams ready for transport,” Anna reported, relief lacing her voice. “Whenever you’re ready to coordinate with the security forces?” 

“Ready,” Janice answered tensely. She was clearly expecting a blast any second. And really, who could blame her…? 

Zhen’var squared her shoulders, and took a breath. “Get me the compromised comms channel. Here goes nothing. Salarian commander, this is Captain Zhen’var. You know you cannot hope to escape against a ship roused against you.”

“Captain Zhen’var, the legendary capability of the Line of Dur must be stopped. Much too dangerous for younger races. Probability is high, Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur inherited order-of-magnitude greater intelligence from gene combination that led to Warmaster Jha’dur. Unacceptable. Not in the interest of any living sapients.” 

“She has sisters, and is an officer of the Alliance and the Union. You tell me that a great doctor is so  _ dangerous _ for living sapients? I cannot accept such a thing.” She felt almost  _ insulted _ , and her hackles rose, though her voice stayed level.

“If she is a doctor, she will sacrifice her life to save others. Have her surrender herself, Captain,” the voice instructed flatly. 

“Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur is no longer aboard the ship.” Zhen’var replied, levelly. “Spare my crew, and I will surrender myself to you as a hostage to her refraining from further development of the work you fear.”

There were several audible  _ gasps  _ on the bridge. 

“You have transferred her to the  _ Heermann, _ ” the Salarian voice said matter-of-factly. “If we are attacked, we will detonate the bombs, Captain.”

“Of course. It will take time to work my way down to your position, Salarian commander. I shall begin at once.” She reached down and killed the audio pickup, taking a deep, audible breath. “Commander Atreiad has the ship.”

“ _ Captain _ ?” Will’s voice echoed on the bridge, confused. 

“ _ Major Richards needs time _ . I will  _ not _ order any of my crew to place themselves in mortal danger. I have thus offered myself up to the Salarians. I suggest hoping our Marines are successful.  _ Quickly _ .”

“We should just pull back. Start venting impulse fuel to space. Captain, we can meet the challenge.”

“Then you must take the conn anyhow, to more convincingly buy the time it would have taken me to travel down to the Salarians, Commander.”

“I… Understood, Captain. I have the conn.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


That left Zhen’var a helpless spectator to the defence of her own ship when moments later the five surviving mercenary vessels did what seemed foolhardy and insane: They used FTL to jump into the middle of the Migrant Fleet. 

It was utterly mad, and Zhen’var’s expression twisted into confusion. “What are they doing? Surely the Quarians will hunt them down in moments…?

“Quarian fleet, you are instructed to stand down,” Bor’erj picked up the open channel. It contained no identification, no explanation, just a blunt warning. 

Daria frowned. “They’re trying to intimidate the Quarians with implied Council retaliation without actually saying it,” she guessed. 

“The Quarian tentative agreement with the Alliance means they can afford to choose to laugh at it, if they wish. You cannot push a people into a subordinate position forever…” Zhen’var murmured from her captain’s chair.

“They’re lining up for an attack run on the  _ Heermann, _ ” Daria reported sharply as she turned back to her console. But she wasn’t controlling anything, that was all concentrated at secondary control, where the only senior officers were Will and Violeta, who had been cut off from the bridge. 

“Have there been any transmissions from the ship?” came from the Captain, frowning as she watched the chronometer. She had to trust in her people to deal with the bombs, for taking control of her ship back would soon enough confirm to the Salarians that she was dealing with them falsely.

“No, but we’re getting one from the Quarian fleet, Captain… Admiral Daro’Xen’s flagship,” Bor’erj put it on.

“Hirelings without markings shall be treated as  _ bosh’tet  _ pirates by the Quarian Fleet,” her sharp voice echoed across space. “We have no need nor cause to cower ever again. You should know you have broken the peace of our home!”

As she spoke, the mercenaries realised they had miscalculated, but they were also under enormous pressure from their employers to take on the  _ Heermann,  _ with Nah’dur apparently aboard her. They continued to advance until, abruptly, a salvo from a squadron of Quarian cruisers with their famous particle accelerator ring cannon tore into the mercenary squadron, still showing battle damage from the previous fight with the  _ Heermann.  _

The attacker, laying quietly in space until the last moment, now shot ahead at full acceleration, moving to dodge and clear the way for the Quarians. 

Daro’Xen’s voice returned, and this time it was directed to them: “Alliance Forces, this is the Quarian fleet. We do not need assistance, we can deal with pirates using our own strength.” 

“They want to prove something, after so many years having only scraps… I can understand the feeling rather well.”  _ We of the Union were the same when we could join the war against the Reich. _

“Do you think we’re going to run out of time?” Daria asked quietly. “If the mercenaries are quickly defeated…”

“The Warmaster has always trusted Battlemaster Fei’nur for very good reason, Leftenant. I have faith.”

  
  


The hangar bay crew was working frantically now. Stasia was watching the displays. Several ram-trucks that used magnetic locking wheels were pushing debris out of the jammed doors of the  _ Huáscar _ ’s main bay, while the other utility tractors were sweeping damaged craft into a recovery section as fast as they could, anything that could be salvaged. 

Stasia had handed traffic control coordination over to her subordinates. She was completely focused on the hangar operations and trying to keep control of the delicate situation there as she checked and checked again the fuel levels on the Mongeese from their automatic updates to her consoles. 

“PriFly Actual to  _ Huáscar  _ Actual,” she began, “airborne starfighters are one hour to bingo.”

“Thank you, PriFly,” Will’s voice echoed. It was hard to realise exactly how long it had been, the hours that had already passed in the current conditions. 

Stasia knew it mostly because they’d refilled the coffee pot multiple times. She grabbed another mugfull, filled with powdered milk,which was at least a lot better in the multiverse than it had been back home in terms of what it did for coffee. 

“How much longer until the doors are clear?” Will continued. That was Stasia’s responsibility, after all, even if saving the ship was not.

“Say another ten minutes,” Stasia answered, highlighting the blue pinpricks on her holodisplay of the welding torches of floating crewers and drones on EVA cutting through the jammed parts of the doors, not cutting them off entirely, just slicing off enough for them to properly open and close again. “We’ll land under hangar fields only. Door repairs will take, eh, another twelve hours when they’re closed, welding on replacement patches and checking spacetightness, Sir.”

“Is that we can’t bring them in before the bombs are defused? We might lose power?”

“Damn straight, Sir. That and the whole thing with possibly losing the ships. We’ll get ‘em down Sir. I just need a safe ship for the guys to land on.”

“Expedite, Chief. Try to get the doors sealed otherwise.” 

“I…”  _ Think, bitch.  _ She commanded herself cruelly.  _ If I can’t get the doors spacetight in time, I need to…  _ “Yes sir. We’ll splice the hangar screens out of the mains power and wire them into a Marine lander. That will have enough power to run them. We can even wire them into two, reverse the shore power connections and run in parallel so we don’t lose the screens from one going down. Then if there’s more damage we won’t lose power.”

“Good thinking, Chief. Ten minutes?” 

Stasia spun toward her console and spoke back into her headset, “As near as I can, Sir. I’ll just start to bring them down as soon as Repair 7 has the crossovers done.”

“Roger that.  _ Huáscar  _ Actual out.”

  
  
  
  
  


Fei’nur was near the aft end of the ventilated section, now. She had advanced there from the forward part where she had rescued Nah’dur, and she knew what her job was. There were three Salarians coming toward her--she had received the notification that the other group had been successfully liquidated by her marines--and she had to take them out, without giving them a chance to detonate their explosives. 

It was the lot of a Spectre, a mission they were keenly honed for, to strike silently, to strike quickly, and most of all, to strike without their foes knowing what had ever struck them. Her objective was to ambush them as they entered the ventilated sectors, as it was a vulnerable moment for the group to be pinned up. 

The carpet below her feet was frozen, and she had to work carefully to avoid shattering frozen ice on the walls and halls. Through a jammed open door to some quarters were plants, frozen solid, which had once spruced up a place made into a home. Some of the crew was quite possibly still trapped around her, though this section had depressurised more slowly and might have been fully evacuated. 

Fei’nur hoped it was the case, but she could not let the uncertainty influence her. The Salarians  _ had _ to be stopped. Invisible as she silently prowled forward, a knife slipped into her hand.

  
  
  
  


The autonomous bomb-response robots had been beamed in first. A volunteer crew followed them in. Anna led them. She was not about to risk her ship suffering any kind of damage at all, she was going to fight and win this battle on her own. 

Without gravity, the robots tumbled until small compressed air jets steadied them for zero-gravity operations. With the engineering crews and security personnel following them in, they quickly took control and guided the robots into a sweep through the shattered and torn corridors. 

They had to locate the bombs in minutes or less, and in this case that meant discounting the obvious: They wouldn’t be in the middle of the blast from the first one, they would be somewhere else or else there would have been a sympathetic detonation from the first bomb. There wasn’t enough weight to armour them or they would have been detected, or they wouldn’t be big enough to cause the damage that was being claimed. 

That eliminated all the quarters of the Quarians near the original blast site. Next they just displayed the quarters of all of Han’Gerrel’s personnel as the most likely ones to contain the devices. Anna had mustered nine teams for six bombs to let them cover a larger area faster to guarantee detection and response. 

With the robots leading the way, the entered each set of quarters and became short-range scans for anomalies while passively visually detecting through the ruined corridors. Lined in ice, with carpet that crackled and broke under their gravity boots, leaving a little dust floating in the zero-g, it was like looking through a kaleidoscope at a version of the  _ Huáscar  _ that had been frozen by a magic wand. 

“Got a signature ahead,” Chief Ru’tar reported as he guided in the robot. The bomb hadn’t been secured and it was now floating at the top of the room, disguised inside of a duffle bag, all that it needed in the personal effects of diplomats. 

“Go on ahead,” Anna instructed, and gently remote-controlled the robot in place to secure magnalocks to the ceiling next to the bomb while Ru’tar approached it with a passive scanner. 

“Anti-tampering field?” She asked. 

“Possibly,” Ru’tar answered. “Inconclusive results, Ma’am.”

“Get a layer of anti-jostling foam on it. It clearly survived drifting to the ceiling without going off.”

“Understood.” The Dilgar Petty Officer led his small team, activating their anti-blast, anti-jostling foam dispensers. The foam started to build up around the duffle, encapsulating it in a material with completely null properties in terms of vibration, oscillation, sound, the vacuum of space. The complicated nano-material foam was meant to deaden the blast, it had an electrostatic structure which would dampen the effectiveness of an initiator, and it might even interfere with fusion during the initial picoseconds of the detonation, though not enough to keep any of them from being alive afterwards. 

The team kept layering the foam on because most importantly it would reduce the chances of an anti-tampering field detonating the bomb when they moved it. Anna operated the robot as she listened to the reports coming in from the other teams, identifying the devices and following the same process with each of them. 

As Ru’tar worked, one of the ratings was surveying the growth of the foam. Once they had added enough that if they added more it wouldn’t fit into the sarcophagus on the robot, they made a hand-chopping signal to halt the spraying. 

Anna quickly shut the robot down into hibernation mode, so that it would not have even a single vibration to risk triggering the bomb as it was moved into the sarcophagus attached to it. An armoured box with folding doors of 300mm-thick tritanium, it could lift the bomb in with robotic arms, but floating upside down in zero gravity, it was just being used as a transport mule, and gently pressing so that the foam slightly squeezed, the ratings, floating, pushed down the bomb down into the sarcophagus, until it was snugly inside. 

With a tense moment of fear, she reactivated the controls, and the servos gently closed the doors over the bomb. Once they were in place, she personally slid heavily tritanium locking arms across the folding lid of the sarcophagus. 

Then she tapped her omnitool with a spacesuit glove. “Bridge, Hussar. Bomb One, secure!” Now the question was if they would live to know the others were secure...

  
  
  
  
  


Daro’Xen’s squadrons had made short work of the mercenary ships as they tried to escape. With each one that exploded without getting through to the  _ Heermann _ \--evading, but having caught on with Will’s warning, never actually fleeing the combat--the likelihood of the Salarians giving up and detonating the bombs increased. The handy victory  _ increased  _ the tension on the bridge, not decreased it. 

“ _ Huáscar  _ Actual, this is DCC Actual,” the com was sounding as DCC made her report to Will. “We’ve vented fuel from the main impulse drive tanks and locked them down, we’re clear of the plume. The reactors are SCRAMed. We’ve evacuated Echo and Delta sectors, all frames. Repair 1 and Repair 2 are pulled back and ready to respond to the new detonations, Sir. All openings through Class W between the main and engineering hulls are secured.”

“Not much more that can be done.” Zhen’var murmured from her position on the bridge. “It will still cripple the ship if those bombs go off, though not destroy her. If you have any being or anything to direct prayers towards, now is well the time, comrades.”

Daria turned back to the screen and whispered a prayer. There was only one mercenary ship left. Suddenly, there was a faint shudder like the ringing of a bell in the ship. 

Lieutenant Orallian looked up. “Conventional shaped charge, Captain. Just ventilated E-6 to space.”  _ Gaining access.  _ It was now or never. 

Zhen’var bowed her head, and she  _ prayed _ . 

  
  
  
  
  
  


To their credit, the Salarians didn’t mess around. Fei’nur had decided to hang back for precisely this reason. A powerful octo charge far more concentrated than TNT and precisely placed slammed open one of the spacetight doors and the air in the space beyond explosively rushed into the vacuum she occupied, briefly turning it from eerie silence into a roar of disappearing air. Knowing what it meant, she activated her visor shield quickly. Otherwise, it would have been covered in a layer of frost that might have easily meant her death for a lack of sight. 

Deactivating it, she inched into a position where she could see the freshly depressurized corridor. The Salarians moved in a loose order knot, sweeping the side corridors and rooms as they rushed forward. They weren’t idiots, they were still looking for Nah’dur despite the claims. 

Fei’nur’s eyes narrowed, cybernetic implants coming on the line, a cocktail of medications coursing into her bloodstream and tissues. They were expecting to run into  _ Huáscar _ ’s Marines or Security personnel, not  _ her _ . They would react faster than almost any other group in the multiverse. The last Spectre would have to be fast, quick;  _ efficient _ . To be sloppy would see the Salarians detonate the bombs, taking her with them. There was going to be  _ one  _ chance at this. 

The vacuum helped her. Under her stealth suit, it masked her, it meant there were no air currents or acoustic signatures to give her away to the sensors or senses of the Salarians. She crept closer. 

Then, in an explosion of motion, her legs pumped like the ambush predator that she was. Unlike the last section, they had artificial gravity here, and that counted.  _ One, two, three  _ steps in, and the blade lunged with the cybernetics in her arm, engineered to stop a Minbari warrior in full swing, crashing the nano-filament edge of the blade through the Salarian’s suit. 

He toppled as she flung herself using his body to change her momentum, tossing an alien quickly becoming a corpse out of her way to swing and face the next. The movement of the body attracted the twitch-reflex response of the Salarians which was so legendary. As it did, the fire from the Salarians’ guns tracked her, but even in gravity, the abrupt shift in momentum by lunging off of another heavy object counted. 

_ Tick-tock,  _ she could feel her heart pounding and each and every second passing. The gun tracked closer to her, spewing fire. The Salarians knew they were fighting an enemy they could not see, but they did not panic. It was still a huge disadvantage. 

Her blade slipped in above the torso armour plate of the Salarian and sliced through into the neck. Air left, blood left, froze, and a frozen moment in the eyes of the amphibian looked right toward her, but could not see her. Fei’nur grabbed the body tightly, so tightly, in an embrace of death, and flung herself against the wall with the Salarian out. 

The silent gunfire of the final Salarian tracked and riddled the corpse with fire. Then he paused, and seemed to realise his predicament. No Zhen’var, he could hear the radio reports from the squadron, or rather the absence of them. No Nah’dur. But he had the bombs. 

Fei’nur’s hand was bringing her pistol up to the right, dagger abandoned in the neck of this Salarian used as her shield, no time for anything else. The Salarian before her started to tap something on his omnitool. He jerked. Fei’nur pulled the trigger, and then frowned as her mind registered the jerk… And then frantically kept shooting the pulse pistol at full power. 

The body jerked, and jerked again, as it was torn apart by the shots, and finally toppled to the deck. 

Twenty metres down the corridor, Artesia de Más lowered her own pulse pistol to the rest and activated her suit comms. “Colonel. It was necessary to get Nah’dur away, but not me,” she said simply, still in the same emergency spacesuit she had been in during her sheltering in the survival shelter. “I could tell you might need some support.” 

“So you did, and so I did.” Watching the blond pilot for a long moment, she activated her tactical comms. “Fei’nur to Security; are you showing further targets?” Fei’nur still did not drop her stealth field, but slowly, her muscles uncoiled.

“No targets, Colonel,” Janice’s voice crackled back over the comms. “Commander Poniatowska’s crew are disposing of the secured bombs now.” 

With that, Fei’nur finally dropped her cloak. “Come on, Combat Master. Let’s get somewhere where we can get these suits off.” Her face had an honest to goodness  _ smile _ on it, as she held out a hand. “Very well done indeed.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I’m honoured to fight for  _ Huáscar. _ ”

  
  
  


“All hostiles on the  _ Huáscar  _ have been neutralised, Captain,” Janice was reporting to Zhen’var. “I’ve informed DCC they can muster the Repairs to begin aggressive pressurization repair, and we are now preparing deep space recovery teams to start escorting personnel out of the depressurized zone before they lose oxygen in the survival shelters.”

“Very good. We have been lucky. Full forensics efforts, even if it will matter very little, I think.” Zhen’var felt tension slowly start to leave her spine, the further the crisis started to recede.

“Understood.” 

“Captain, I can transfer control to the main bridge now,” Will confirmed in the wake of the exchange with Major Richards. 

“Captain has the conn, thank you, Commander Atreiad. Your efforts were much appreciated. Comms, please get me  _ Heermann _ Actual, I believe there is something we need to do...”

#  Tag

After the conversation with Abebech, Zhen’var had a second conversation with the Quarians. It lasted for about five minutes, but Zhen’var spoke the entire time in hushed, respectful tones. About an hour later, despite how exhausted she was, the Captain of the  _ Huáscar  _ started to get ready. 

Zhen’var and Abebech arrived on Daro’Xen’s flagship in fully sealed spacesuits, the only way that it was safe for non-Quarians to visit a Quarian vessel. They came alone and unescorted, as a gesture of respect and trust. 

They were greeted with the boom of a gong and swishing of strings of bells, and taken up through the ship, some of a very few foreigners to be taken aboard a Quarian vessel. What they saw on the inside was a continuous tapestry of quilts and rugs covering the ship to make it homey, with amazing details in the artwork throughout. It was nothing like a bare and sterile warship, even though it was a warship. The  _ Moreh _ was also home for her crew. 

And then they were presented to the flag-bridge, where the tall form in her black suit and scarves of Daro’Xen vas Moreh. 

Zhen’var saluted as best she could in her uniform. “Admiral Daro’Xen. May I give you my personal and most sincere thanks for the assistance you provided to my ships.”

“My own as well, Admiral, that you directly gave us succor when under attack by a squadron,” Abebech said with prim perfection.

Daro’Xen paused for a moment, and then smiled magnanimously. “Your thanks are accepted, Captains. The Quarian Fleet is happy to help its  _ friends.  _ And I think you have proved that. Beyond the fact that you have made the Salarians most upset about something, it appears.” 

“It was an honor, Admiral, to stand with you.” Zhen’var answered. 

“Yes, I wouldn’t talk about the Salarian matter  _ either, _ ” Daro’Xen sounded bemused. “You are welcome. We are glad for the Dilgar example as well. It clearly shows that even with our small population, when we find somewhere to settle, we will be able to maintain a sizable fleet of warships for our defence. Hundreds, at least. Possibly more than you do since we won’t need to fund government transports and couriers to carry on traffic between far-flung worlds. It will be strange to think of so many ships being decommissioned. One of your officers is a Rihannsu, and I understand they still have Ship Clans who refuse to leave the worldships which carried them to their new home. Perhaps we will end up with the same. For all we speak of home, we Quarians have become a spacefaring race. At the conference, Lieutenant de Más called us spacenoids, and from researching the reference, I don’t think she’s wrong.” She looked archly at Zhen’var.

“She is likely correct in that. There is nothing ill in it, Admiral. The Quarian people will be free to choose their  _ own _ destiny, not that which shortage, want, and pressure from the Council attempts to force them to.

“You are right, Captain,” Daro’Xen agreed. “And I have decided to support the agreement. We need the luxury of  _ time,  _ and that, we do not have here. We need the luxury of  _ space.  _ We will go to another universe, and we will not regret it. The Pilgrimage children will be recalled; we will all make a pilgrimage together.” 

“ _ Huáscar  _ and  _ Heermann _ will be honoured to guide the Quarian fleet to another universe, Admiral, and to work with your people to find a new home.”

“We will be happy to have you in the vanguard of the fleet,” Daro’Xen replied generously. “It seems, then, that we will not let anyone stop us, and we will see each other again soon.” 

“I look forward to it, Admiral Daro’Xen.”

  
  
  
  
  


An hour later, Zhen’var and her senior officers were in conference room one. Mugs of coffee and tea steamed over the table. Will was handling the report. Everyone looked exhausted and bone tired, and only no longer being at stations and having plenty of caffeine to drink helped. 

“Captain, the hull breach has been welded tight and reinforced with ferrocrete. At this point, we are re-pressurizing behind the patch and once we’re confirming that we’re holding pressure, we can relax our Material Condition to allow for ease of access for repairs,” he said, using a pointer across a holographic projection of the ship. 

“Very good. Once we do, we will plan to make as much in the way of self-repair as we can. Hopefully we will be relieved of our charge with the Quarian fleet soon, so our deficiency list should be sent to LogCom and BuShips to prepare what-ever space-dock we will be sent to.”

“Understood Sir. There’s a lot of commendations to go around. I’ll have a full list prepared for your review, Ma’am.” Wil, guzzling coffee almost as hard as Rick would--who wasn’t there because he was still recovering from his marathon six-hour spacewalk with Repair 9--looked relieved. 

“Thank you. Colonel Fei’nur will be the reviewing authority for decorations issued by the Union, I will review the Alliance decorations to avoid any appearance command influence from one on the other.”

Anna looked around, and then asked the question they had all been wondering. “Captain, why the hell did they come after us?” 

Nah’dur wasn’t there, she still had surgeries ongoing for wounded… Will shot a look to Zhen’var. 

“Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur has been engaged in a project to avert the slow extinction of the Krogan race. It appears that all efforts taken to keep it secret have failed, and the Citadel Council has decided that it is sufficiently imperative to stop her that it has chosen to commit an act of war against the Alliance.” Zhen’var replied after a long pause.

“Oh.” Anna rocked back. 

“Well that’s fucking messed up,” Stasia muttered. 

Violeta pursed her lips. “The genophage. Our Chief Medical Officer was trying to cure the genophage.”

“Correct, and her clan name means they fear she will  _ succeed _ .”

Violeta raised her mug of tea. “Success,” she toasted simply. There would be no  _ apologies  _ from Huáscarenos.

“To success!” Zhen’var answered, her heart swelling with pride in her people.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was the next evening that Zhen’var made her way down to sickbay, holding a keep-warm container in a hand. She knew her sister would have pushed herself to exhaustion before coming back for the less critical cases. Heading in, she made a beeline for Nah’dur’s office.

The young woman was there, having shoved aside some of her belongings to make room for a series of cryo-coolers. She turned around, looking absolutely exhausted, but there was a smile on her lips nonetheless. “Captain.” 

“I am here informally, Nah’dur.” She raised the container in her hand. “I brought you dinner. I knew you would be running on stims and determination by now.”

“I finished the critical cases,” Nah’dur agreed… “ _ Thank you,  _ Sister-Zhen,” she made a small gesture with clasped hands and took the food, flopping into a chair to open the container and start to eat. “Future of the Krogan race in those freezers, Sister-Zhen. It’s so awesome.”

“About that. The rest of the senior officers know, now, Nah’dur. We cannot hide it from the wider multiverse much longer. The Quarians must at least suspect by now. It is clear the Council, or parts of it, does know.”

“Then I’ll have to act fast,” Nah’dur answered. “I have a plan for getting the treatment, once I finish clinical trials, deployed on Tuchanka. I’ve already been sketching it out. We won’t need permission or  _ anything. _ Battlemaster Wrex will fund it.”

“You know that if you tell me too much, I may have to forbid it, sister.” Zhen’var answered, sitting down with her ever-present tea-mug.

“I know, so I won’t give you more details.” She looked up, seeming content and happy with herself. 

“Please, do tell  _ Fei’nur _ . She can decide whether to tell our mother, Nah’dur.” Zhen’var glanced over at the cryo-containers. “For you are carrying out acts with  _ diplomatic _ repercussions.”

“I was afraid someone would stop me,” Nah’dur admitted plainly. 

“They still might, Nah’dur. We could face great consequences, you for doing this, and me for  _ permitting _ it, but I believe the course you travel to be righteous.”

“If all of this,” she waved a hand at the  _ Huáscar,  _ “just helps a species come back from the dead and shows the multiverse we are faithful in extremis, to me that’s a victory. But I am sure, Sister-Zhen, we will do yet more. We are Dilgar, and we write our own stories.”

“So it is, Sister-Nah, so it must be.” Zhen’var smiled, as she rose back to her feet. “Lieutenant tr'Rllaillieu has scheduled a meeting with me, so I must be going, unless there was anything else?” Her eyes met those of her sister.

“No, I love the Chicken 65,” she said with a bright smile. “Thank you.”

“Get some sleep when you can. Good night, Surgeon-Commander.” Zhen’var called out behind her, as she headed for the hatch.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Huáscar  _ was heading to drydock, and this time it would be for a month in full cold shutdown. That wasn’t necessary, strictly speaking, for the damage she had taken. However, she had been out for six months, and she needed her first technical service inspection and component safety inspection from BuShips. It would have happened whether or not the bombs went off. 

For the crew, it would be a chance to actually  _ go home  _ and visit loved ones. For the ship, it would be a chance to leave behind the difficulties of start-up and become a smooth, well-oiled machine by replacing the fraction of parts that naturally fail immediately after entry into service. 

But for Arterus, stepping into the Captain’s office, he knew it was about to be an entirely new and more dangerous sort of endeavour. “Ma’am,” he came to attention sharply. 

“Lieutenant, sit, please.” Zhen’var was settled behind her desk, as she gestured to the seat opposite.

He moved to settle down. “Thank you, Captain.” A suspicious glance around, and he pitched his voice down, as people were wont to do when discussing things like what he was about to bring up. “I’ve made contact with Lady Danaine.”

Feeling her eyebrows lift, the Dilgar woman covered her reaction with a sip from the mug in her hand. “Go on, Lieutenant.”

“She would like to meet with you in Universe F1S1 on Canopus IV, the capitol of the Magistry.” 

“I… see. When, Lieutenant?” She did not regard the location with  _ relish _ , but it would certainly give plenty of coverage for Lady Danaine. Less so for  _ her _ , aliens were still not common in F1S1.

“She’s flexible on the schedule. Apparently she’s already there, Lial says, and will wait for a few weeks to give you a chance to arrive,” Arterus answered. 

“Which means as soon as I am able to sign the ship over to the dockyard and seen everyone safely away.” Zhen’var mentally sighed.  _ Well, there goes my leave to Tira _ .  _ I hope she understands I will have to postpone. _ “Anything further, Lieutenant? Field-work is not a strong suit of mine.”

“‘Act like you’re on vacation, I’ll take care of the rest,’” Arterus quoted. “No restrictions or concerns.” 

“Then I should speak with the Colonel, we normally take our vacations together…” At least his Captain  _ sounded _ amused. “Thank you, Lieutenant. We will be departing once the ship is properly signed over.”

“Lial will make the appropriate notifications.” He rose, and inclined his head. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Do not thank me until this excursion has ended with us all returning safely, Lieutenant. I will make my preparations.”


End file.
